The ABC's of Castiel and Jody Mills
by ElocinMuse
Summary: Wanted to try out a couple that no one would ever really think to consider. Thus this was born. It starts out taking the 7x17 spoilers into account, then goes AU from there. Also has Dean and Sam, for obvious reasons. T to be safe.
1. A is for Angel

**Author's Note: **Like the description said, I really wanted to try this couple out - who, as of yet, haven't even met. I had some fleeting ideas, which grew, and spawned into this. Also? I love reviews and feedback, and welcome constructive criticism! So please, if you have time, drop me a review. :)

This will too be a huge collection of genres. Besides romance and hurt/comfort, there will also be drama, humor, friendship, family, etc.

Disclaimer: Own not. Profit not. Sue not.

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><p><strong>A is for Angel<strong>

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><p>"This is the angel?" asks Jody Mills, staring down at the unconscious figure that's just been deposited on her couch.<p>

Dean offers her a hurried, agitated affirmation, bustling through the room, drawing symbols on her walls with chalk and blood—the second of those she'd rather not know the origin of. Jody was of the mind to let the boys do their thing, and then stay the hell out of their way.

Frank abandoned his mobile batcave long enough to help Dean in the transport, seeing as Sam wasn't going to be of any help to anyone at the moment. Admittedly, Jody doesn't know much about the psychological underpinnings of hunters, but even she can see how much Dean wishes the older man were Bobby instead, though he'll never say so. A dark, secret part of her wishes that too, but there's no sense mourning a—

_Ghost. _

Jody's really starting to hate that phrase. Tucking away the bottle of bourbon she'd been nursing into a cabinet, she leaves the hunter to his sigils, turning her eyes back on the unassuming—while apparently _celestial_—being. It's a bit of a puzzle, because instead of the all-powerful, holy vibe she expected to get from him, he doesn't look any mightier than a golden retriever. Maybe a little more rugged than your average boy-next-door, but everything about him looks too soft to be imposing.

But then, he was also unconscious.

Perhaps, when he woke up, things would become very different. Maybe her houseplants would catch fire, or the room would shake. Dean told her once that there'd been thunder and exploding lights when he met the thing that dragged him out of Hell. He also told her about the shooting and the stabbing portion of that little encounter, and Jody can't remember if she'd actually called the hunter an idiot, or just thought it silently.

Deciding right then, Jody resolves that there will be no stabbing or shooting of any angels in her house, thank you very much. She wonders where his wings are—thinks she might ask him when he wakes up, but maybe that's committing some terrible faux pas in angel culture, so maybe she won't. That same, secret part of her yearns to know about her family—where they are, if they're all right, if they miss her, if they know she misses them…

_Stop it, Jody_, she berates herself. He's not even conscious yet and already she's racking up questions to smother him with. If he'd even have the answers at all. Dean did say his friend was _cut off from the home office_…

Dean had called her several hours prior, spouting out a clipped and panicked summary of the situation, in desperate need of shelter. She'd of course offered her home to him, and he arrived shortly after with Frank and an unconscious body in tow. As soon as Dean told her that this was Castiel, everything clicked into place. The extent of what she knew on the actual, Winchester Timeline, was that the angel had been dead, and now he wasn't.

"Frank, I need you to stay with Jody and Cas while I get on this demon situation," Dean delegates, going off in a litany of orders.

Frank mutters, hemming and hawing, but inevitably submits to the urgency of the older Winchester's tone. "Alright," the old crackpot rumbles, vacating the room. "I'll be parked on the porch with a shotgun, if you need me."

It takes Jody a moment to realize that Dean is speaking to her. "Yeah, Dean?"

He's still out of breath, _roughly_ out of sorts, and too focused on getting the hell outta there to offer her much of an explanation, but she gives him points for trying. "Look, so… he's—he's _okay_, I think. A demon worked some kind of mojo over on him to put him out, but he should wake up soon. He, uh… he's not exactly himself. I…"

Jody butts in, trying to make sense of his disjointed remarks. "Dean. Slow down, hon, and just give me the cliff notes. In as close to English as possible."

Dean exhales heavily, jamming a hand through his short hair and daring a look at his friend on the couch. "He's having trouble with his memory. I don't think—I don't know, he's… it's _Cas_, but he's not all there yet. We found him in a _psych ward_." The hunter grimaces at his own reminder, and Jody crowds his personal space, getting him to focus.

"I'll make sure he's okay. You go and do whatever it is you do." She offers him the most encouraging smile she can, hoping it might have an effect. "Oscar the Grouch is out on my porch with a sawed-off, and I'll stay in here with him."

Dean pulls her into a fierce hug, grateful, as always, for the help. He's not used to catching a break, and the sheriff has proved time and again to be a permanent touchstone they can rely on. "Thanks, Jody."

She nods against him, giving him an extra squeeze. "Don't mention it. Now get outta here."

Jody all but blinks and Dean is already out the door.

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><p>Frank is still guarding the porch, muttering to himself and being generally inconvenienced. But, when things get really hairy about twenty-some minutes later, Jody knows how much he actually cares. It's so easy to forget that he had people he loved once, too.<p>

She'd been trying to read, to clean her weapons, pacing on and off—anything to drown out the unbearable silence and her curiosity of the goddamn angel passed out on her couch.

She can't stop looking at him. Erroneously innocent, lying there. He hasn't moved a muscle, but still looks somehow distraught. It's only evident in the very slight frown and crease of his brow, but it's enough to make her notice. His chest rises and falls, slowly, as he breathes, so that's a plus. Jody files away the fact that angels do in fact breathe for future reference. She's heard of the mighty Castiel, of course. But this unpretentious and, bizarrely, _down-to-earth_ seeming creature curled over the faded cushions of her sofa tugs at her heartstrings, and Jody can't figure why. He looks so small compared to the mythology of what he is, despite that, by the length of him, she can tell he'd tower over her.

Without warning, his eyelids flutter, and he finally starts to stir. Jody gets to her feet quickly, hurrying over to his side. As he comes to, the indicators of unease progressively manifest into true distress, and Jody realizes she'd been correct in assuming the angel was not okay. "Castiel?" she begins, a little awkwardly. The name sounds foreign on her tongue, like maybe she's not worthy to even be speaking it. She reaches out to him, not sure what to do or how to approach him.

His eyes fly open and dart to her. It's clear she's startled him, because he lurches upright and tries to disappear himself against the back of the couch in a mad scramble. He's huddled in the corner of the arm now, alert and looking scared. His large, startlingly blue eyes are locked on her, disoriented and wary in a way that's painful.

"Where am I?" His voice is gruff, raspy with disuse, but somehow just as small as he looks right now. The way he speaks, the way he looks, everything about him is a paradox. A series of contradicting anomalies that even a human as limited as her can distinguish.

Suddenly, all at once, she needs to protect him.

The foreign, but prevalent desire to calm him fills her unexpectedly, and Jody extends her hands in a mollifying gesture. "It's okay. You're safe."

_You're safe. _

Her words settle in, registering with him, and the expression of genuine concern on the face opposite his own connects with something deep inside of him. So much so, that the tension in his hunched frame gradually begins to wane. "I," he breaks off, feeling a belated sense of regret for upsetting her. Even still, he can't help the lost and hopeless sense that he's been misplaced in the middle of these unfamiliar surroundings. "I don't—"

"You're at my place," Jody explains to him. "Dean brought you here; you're safe."

Naturally, Frank would choose that moment to barrel into the room, shotgun at the ready. "The hell's going on?" he demands of the commotion, ready to assist her or shoot something, Jody doesn't really know.

_And damn it! I said no stabbing or shooting of any angels! That includes scaring the unholy hell out of them!_ What the hell was it with hunters, anyways?

This, of course, only sets the angel off again. Castiel bolts to his feet, seizing an abandoned weapon from the table and warding it out in front of himself. It's odd, Jody thinks, because he looks like he's never held a weapon in his life. This was the creature that Dean claimed to have smote an entire building full of demons with his bare hands—took on his own kind with an angel's blade, burned the very eyes from those unfortunate enough to look on his true form.

"Frank, put the gun down," commands Jody, inserting herself between the two. At his grizzled scowl, she squares her shoulders at him and narrows her eyes. "It's _fine_—just go in the other room. Have a beer or something and chill out." Frank grumbles, but relents after a particularly roasting glare from the sheriff. "_Go_." He levels a final warning look of his own in the wayward angel's direction, then shuffles off. Once he's gone, Jody turns back to her charge. "Castiel."

"That's not my name," he whispers, looking so unsure of himself that she feels another tug in her chest. She can't imagine what could be wrong with him, but she's pretty sure that angels shouldn't look so afraid.

Jody approaches him slowly, curling her fingers over his atop the knife hilt. He's warmer than she expected. "You don't have to be afraid. No one here is going to hurt you."

Maybe it's her maternal instincts resurfacing, maybe it's something else entirely. But, something in her immediately latches onto him, and she sees the mirrored reaction in the gaze looking back at her. She can't for the life of her put a name to it.

His eyes bore into hers, large and timid, and Jody at last realizes that he isn't having trouble remembering what _day_ it is, or if he left the iron on in Heaven. _He's having trouble with his memory_, Dean had said. Castiel doesn't even know who—or _what_—he is.

"It's okay," Jody tells him again, gently, until his shoulders don't look so severe, and his expression becomes more and more apologetic. She's reminded of the time she'd had to coax and sooth the wild fox that got itself stuck in her fencing, 'til she could work it free. Jody sets the knife back down on the table when he surrenders it to her, and, when she looks at him again, she takes her time, eyes roaming over him.

He really doesn't look like an angel, standing there awkwardly in her living room, which now seems too small for him and too big, all at once. He's in jeans and a tee shirt and hoodie, which only adds to the contradictory image she'd cooked up in her mind of what angels were meant to be. Castiel continues to look desperately out of place, and his own name apparently triggers some kind of residual anxiety for him. Which, while unfortunate, is good information to have. "What should I call you?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know."

Jody waits, watching the expressions as they scroll over his face, his eyes downcast in thought.

"Seven," he mutters. Before Jody can ask what that means, he clarifies for her. "At the hospital, they called me Seven. It was my number."

Jody's eyes soften, like the earth thawing after a frost. "Seven?"

He nods a little.

"Do you remember Dean, Seven?"

"I remember he helped me escape. And his brother is sick."

Jody thinks, and the two dissimilar beings—angel of the Lord and human woman—consider each other carefully. "Are you okay to stay here with me until he gets back?"

The angel nods, and can't help but think that no one has asked him what he was okay with until now. He's grateful, of course, to this Dean Winchester for freeing him of a corrupt establishment and for killing those demons intent on doing him harm. But, at the same time, it had all been too much, all at once, and he hasn't really been able to breathe until now. He feels a little bit in control again, and it's a monumental relief.

Jody rights the upended pillows on her couch and he watches her. After awhile, he mumbles an apology about making such a scene, but something eases inside of him when she gives him a smile that's full of warmth.

"Are you hungry?" Jody asks, squeezing his arm lightly. "Because I make a mean skillet."

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><p>The second his eyes fall on her once he wakes, he's surprised. Naturally. But, once he gets a better look at her, his trepidation settles.<p>

She's a petite little thing, but not soft. Her dark hair doesn't quite reach her shoulders, and flares out in jagged tufts that surround her face with character. She wears flannel and jeans and has a kind face. Her voice, when she speaks, is by no means delicate, and it carries a bit of a sly edge to it—specifically when dealing with the older man who bursts into the room looking to do some damage.

But, when she looks at _him_ and speaks, all cynicism vanishes and all he can hear is the cool, gentle timbre. And it isn't an act—he can read the wavelengths of her aura, and they're clean and good and so very warm. He doesn't know how he can do such a thing, of course—read another person's _aura_—only that he does and it's as automatic a reflex as drawing breath. The voice is low and sweet, like the soft notes of a cello, hypnotic. _Moving_, in a way that's profound to him.

When she touches his hand, fingers closing over his, he does feel safe. And, for a moment, he forgets that he can't remember what Dean Winchester so desperately wants him to.

"It's okay," she tells him again, and, looking into the swirling earth tones of her eyes, he believes her. So disarmed is he by her open and transparent warmth, that every dark thought he harbors is erased, at least for now.

She smiles, the corners of her lips curling softly at the edges.

"I'm Jody."

An odd notion comes to him then, and he thinks that maybe she's an angel.


	2. B is for Believe

**Author's Note:** Figured since the chap is written, no point in waiting.

Also? Reviews make the world a better place. :)

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><p><strong>B is for Believe<strong>

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><p><em>You haven't slept in over a day and a half<em>, the little voice at the back of her mind nags again. With practiced ease, Jody ignores it.

She really should be affording herself more rest, but there's just been too much to do. There are too many people depending on her. With Bobby gone, she's become the new liaison, of sorts. Admittedly, she's well aware of any mulish obstinacy she may be in possession of, because _of course_ she can handle this. With a whole new shitton of armageddon looming just around the corner, none of them can afford to slack off. So, this is just how it is.

Bone-weary, Jody pulls herself together, combs fingers through her hair, and pours herself a drink. It's the hunter way, after all. Which, apparently, is who she is nowadays. So… why not join in the customs? It does work wonders, after all, in numbing those dark thoughts that have been gathering like a storm cloud in her head. And, while rest may seem desirable on the surface, the dreams that come with it serve only to haunt her.

_I'll sleep when I'm dead. _

_Before or after the Wonder Twins salt and burn me, I don't really care._

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><p>It's while Dean is away visiting Sam that she finds him in her study, hunched over a book in one of her armchairs.<p>

Jody hovers at the threshold, propped cross-armed against the jamb. He's engrossed in whatever it is, not making a sound except for the occasional page turn, and doesn't notice her. He's wearing some of her husband's old clothes she'd found in the attic, and they make him appear a little stronger than yesterday. Or, perhaps it's just him, now that he's got his bearings. Jody likes the thought of extending him the benefit of the doubt.

Dean, all last night, had been trying everything short of solitary confinement to jog the angel's memory, assaulting him with any bit of information that came to mind. Except for the "big stuff," he'd said, as there was no point in causing the amnesiac angel to become catatonic. Jody's not sure what constitutes as "big stuff," but is content to stay out of it for now, loathe to feel an intruder on matters she knows nothing about. Still, the only thing Dean's efforts achieved was giving them both a pounding headache. Jody too, if you counted her desperate need of a drink.

"What're you reading?"

Seven looks up, showing no signs of surprise as he registers her presence. Dean hates that Jody calls him that, seethes quietly every time it passes her lips, but it's what the angel wanted to be called. If this was the least she could give him, so be it. Let him have something familiar. Just… let him have _something_.

Seven looks down at the book in his hands, almost reverently. "The Bible."

Jody pushes off from the jamb and slips into the room, taking a seat on the loveseat across from him. "Probably a good idea," she agrees, a little too cynical still with the latest events for proper decorum. Truthfully, she'd forgotten she even owned one.

He must not read into her sullen tone, because he looks up at her over the binding, responding genuinely. "It makes me feel like myself again. I don't know… normal? I like the words, and what they have to say."

Jody smiles a little, glad to hear that. "Have you remembered anything?"

The angel frowns, a look of disappointment crossing his features. "No."

Jody doesn't say anything, but thinks that she'll sit with him awhile. After all, the poor thing needed someone to keep him company who wasn't constantly demanding things of him, or at least an interaction that wasn't conditional upon him doing so.

Jody nurses her drink, more interested in swirling it around than actually indulging. She wonders if she shouldn't be thinking of him as an angel, given that he still has no idea. She can't imagine what it's like to have no memories, to have nothing to go on. She knows, certainly, what it's like to _want_ to forget, to erase the scars on a broken heart. But, at the same time, pain shaped a person into who they were, who they would become. Wordlessly, silently, Jody vows that she'll help him, however she can—because as much as Dean obviously cares for his friend, sometimes he was just too close. The night before, the hunter had become agitated by the lack of progress, coupled with the stress of his brother being locked away and the leviathans and every damn thing else on his mind, and it wasn't long before he was taking his frustrations out loudly and vocally on the person who would never even think to defend himself. Seven had taken the rebuking with quiet dismay and a bowed head, promising to try harder. Three seconds into the older Winchester's ongoing tirade, Jody stepped in, calling for a time out. She'd been met with resistance on the hunter's end, through no surprise, but threatened "mom voice" or a bullet from her .45 if he didn't comply.

Dean may have been to Hell and back, but he still had enough self preservation in him to avoid an angry woman with a gun.

When Jody hears the angel's sudden sigh in the present, Seven starts talking before she can ask him what's wrong.

"It's difficult."

"Trying to remember?" The question comes softly, because she senses his frustration. It's potent all around them, and she can tell how discouraged he is. Perhaps she'll take him out for a walk, down by the pond. It was nice down there—peaceful—and maybe it would help clear his head. A part of her instantly regrets the thought, because he isn't a _dog_… but… still. A break would do him good. It would do them both good.

Seven nods, handsome face falling into anxious lines. Jody wonders what he'd look like if he smiled. "That, and… a part of me doesn't want to scratch at that surface. I think I'm afraid of what I'll find."

He looks up at her and sees the compassion in her eyes, the understanding. Two days in this life, and already he's nearly died, he doesn't remember the people he once called _family_, and there is still this unspoken bombshell hanging heavy in the air. Like there's something critical and devastating that no one will tell him.

Seven feels that there's something monumentally different about himself, something that separates him from the others—but how could he know that? How can he know any of the things he just _knows_? He looks down at the pages in his lap, feeling the weight of their words, understanding that—_somehow_—this book is important to him. _Was_ important to him. He reads the passages like they're living things, promises lifting off the page and soothing his burgeoning fears.

_We live by faith, not by sight._

_The angel who has delivered me from all harm—may he bless these boys._

_There, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire._

_David looked up and saw the angel of the Lord standing between heaven and earth, with a drawn sword in his hand extended over Jerusalem. _

_My God sent his angel, and he shut the mouths of the lions. They have not hurt me._

_There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone. _

_An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid." _

"No one can make you remember," his companion's voice breaks quietly through his thoughts. Seven doesn't reply; just listens. She offers him a balming smile, the corners of her mouth twitching in a way that makes her seem so alive. Bright, almost—where everything else around him seems so lifeless. "But… I think not remembering is denying yourself any kind of closure. That book in your hands offers up a lot of faith, something you believe in already. Maybe it's time to turn that belief around. I know you're trying to remember for Dean's sake, but maybe try for yourself." Jody shakes her head, not really sure of what she's saying, since she can't even find much faith in herself these days. All she knows is that maybe she should follow her own advice in the pursuit of closure. She remembers her silent vow to help this man, and feels a strange sense of warmth that it's no longer a self-appointed duty. She genuinely desires to see him happy, to see him overcome this. They are so alike and so dissimilar, in ways both puzzling and captivating. Jody has no idea where this magnetic pull comes from, this invisible force that draws her to him and he to her, but if it's a source of stability that brings him comfort, she isn't going to question it. The simple relief it brings to be doing real good is a novel and rewarding experience, which no amount of zombie killing or leviathan hunting can impart. "I don't know much more than you, in all honesty, but I think that knowing who you really are will outweigh any pain it might bring."

"It does feel like pain," he confesses. "Whenever I get close, it's as if this… _crater_ in my chest gets bigger. It feels like replacing question marks with… open wounds. Does that sound strange?"

Jody bows her head, huffing out a soft, humorless laugh. "Sounds like you need what I'm having, sourpatch," she says, giving the glass in her hand a little shake.

The ice clinks promisingly, and, to his surprise, Seven feels his own lips tug apart in a halfhearted smile. He likes her.

Jody's rendered almost breathless at the sight. He has one of _those_ smiles. The kind that can light up a room, like the sun breaking through the clouds on a stormy afternoon. It's not even at full power, and she can just see it. Can't help but revel in it.

It becomes her mission then to draw it out of him as much and as often as she can. Because a smile like that shouldn't be wasted.

"What about you?" asks Seven. "How do you know the Winchesters?"

Jody's own smile broadens in obvious fondness for the boys, and she finds herself laughing despite the dour mood. "Long story that involves a couple dozen zombies, among other things. Through Bobby, actually."

His brow quirks. "Bobby?"

Jody mentally kicks herself. "Oh… sorry. I guess… I guess you don't remember him."

She watches a strange look come over him.

"Haven," Seven murmurs to himself, surprising her.

"What?"

He looks up, a little bewildered. "Bobby's house? It's a safe place?" He says it like a question, as though he doesn't quite understand his own reasoning—but it's this strange, almost tacit instinct that gives him such intrinsic knowledge.

Singer Salvage meant _sanctuary_.

"Bobby's," Jody nods, expression softening as a look of nostalgia makes her eyes shine a little. Her fingers curl tighter around the cool glass of her drink, caressing the smooth surface, where memories replay in the amber liquid as a forgotten dream. "It was hunter HQ for a long time, a safe haven—especially for the Winchesters. Did Dean tell you that?"

The angel looks like he's in the middle of solving a mental puzzle. "I… I don't know. He must have."

Jody hides her tiny swell of satisfaction behind her glass, taking a knowing sip. The alcohol gives her a stir, making her already heavy eyelids droop further.

"Are you all right?"

Jody nods, waving a hand at him. "Oh, don't worry about me, handsome. Just a little spent, is all." She allows her limbs an indulgent stretch. "Do you mind if I take a break in here?"

The request comes as a little odd to him—it's her house, after all—but Seven nods. "Of course not. I'll try not to disturb you."

"Actually, why don't you read to me? I can never get any shut eye in total silence, not for the life of me." It isn't a lie; she usually needs white noise droning on in the background to get any real amount of sleep. Jody doesn't like the quiet, reminding her she's alone. Still, she thinks that maybe it'll relax him, too.

Seven stares at her as she sets her glass aside and gets comfortable on the loveseat, exhaling deeply and shutting her eyes. Like maybe she's just asked him to spread wings and fly. He takes a moment to look at her, ever intrigued by this woman who made the effort to reach out to him, not so long ago. "Very well."

Jody nestles in, feeling the haze of sleep already upon her. She catches the deep lull of his voice, moments before she succumbs to that oblivion.

"_I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. It was given the key for the passage to the abyss…_"

It's hours later when she feels the tug of a blanket being brushed up over her shoulders, and, for the first time in a long time, Jody feels at home in her own house.

She doesn't dream at all.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Let me tell you about reviews... basically, they're awesome.


	3. C is for Castiel

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the reviews, guys! I appreciate any and all feedback I can get.

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><p><strong>C is for Castiel<strong>

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><p>"What's up, buttercup?" asks Jody, taking up a seat beside him. It's been two weeks since Dean and Frank showed up on her doorstep with the angel. Some days it feels like yesterday, others it feels like he's always been right here, content as a sentry on her sofa, staring into the fireplace.<p>

_I don't have any friends_, he tells her one day, gratitude and hesitance shining in his eyes when he looks at her. _Thank you for… thank you. It's nice knowing what it is to finally have one._ Jody comes up speechless and touched in the face of those words, and he fidgets awkwardly until she's breaking the silence and giving his arm a pleasant swat. Because it's a two-way street—she is glad to know him, glad for his company. Glad to have someone who needs her. Who will stand by when she needs them in turn.

He's so damn serious all the time, and—as it's become her daily undertaking to coax a smile or playful retort out of him—she's hoping for a retaliation. That, and, with the boys out on a hunt, she's bored to tears and looking for ways to entertain herself as well as him. Her mind is immediately filled with the mental image of a cat batting around a ball of string and she feels a little chastened. What's curious though is that he never does seem to mind—often portraying a willing and eager guinea pig to her attentions. He's become her shadow in many ways.

Today is different, though.

"Trying to remember," is Seven's somewhat forlorn reply. It feels so much like a broken record to say it aloud—and is that the proper idiom? He knows he likes burgers and a Christmas special called _It's a Wonderful Life_, he just doesn't know _why_. Not to mention, those are trivial things compared to what he should be focusing on. Dean had looked so disappointed when he told him that's what he'd been thinking of.

The dejectedness in his eyes has Jody's mouth slanting into a frown, efforts doused. Lately, he seems in perpetual need of a hug, and the pressure from outside forces—_Dean damn Winchester_—isn't helping matters, either.

Her shoulder brushes his when she settles in. "Remember?"

Jody leaves it up to him to fill in the blank and he doesn't fail to do so. "Anything," Seven says, running a hand across his forehead to massage it. Jody sees the hopelessness in the gesture, the frustration—brief, but apparent—and her fingers thread into the dark hair above the nape of his neck on a whim, giving him a reassuring jostle. Jody sighs, and Seven leans into it, hanging his head. He isn't so guarded with her, and there's comfort in the simple touch. Jody always helps with the headaches. Just the other day, she introduced him to something remarkable called _Excedrin_. Dean didn't seem happy about the pills though, for whatever reason. He and Jody got into a fight over it, which was upsetting. Seven didn't like the idea of anyone getting reproached on his behalf.

"The memories will come exactly when they need to," she tells him now, those closing words weighing in the silence as she sits with him. A veiled omen, though neither of them think of it at the time—they're just words to make him feel better.

That had been early that morning, when she'd found him back in her study, staring into the flames of her fireplace as though they might hold the answers. Jody returns to find him still there, and she offers his shoulder a supportive squeeze. "Do you want me to go?"

Seven shakes his head. "Stay."

He likes when Jody touches him, when she's near. There is warmth in the contact, comfort. It makes him feel… safe. Appreciated.

Later on in the day, he'd been in a better mood. He and Dean had even taken to chatting like they were friends again, like things were normal and not so tangled. That made Jody happy. She never really knew much about the angel, but she did know how much the hunter had missed him—Sam, too, for that matter—despite the walls the former had thrown up in defense of all that pain and loss.

It was just before she could get supper on the table that things went to hell. Frank called, barking out danger in his bellowing, frantic baritone. Dean was on his feet even before the grizzled crackpot could end the call, and then he'd turned to the angel.

"We need you."

Without hesitation, Seven followed, his loyalty somehow ingrained.

Jody, while they were away, would stay on the phones; mediating, directing, and obfuscating if law enforcement got involved. She can't help but worry over it all, because it's bad, whatever it is. Really bad.

An awful feeling settles in the pit of her gut that she just isn't able to shake. She can't put a name to it and thinks she doesn't really need to; it's the universal bad vibe, after all. See, Jody doesn't know much in the way of hunting—at least not when it comes to Sam and Dean's level of knowledge. But she's no idiot, either.

Something big is coming. Big, and nasty.

* * *

><p>The little girl of the family they were trying to protect was fading quickly. Near-fatally injured by the shtriga which was terrorizing a nearby town, the hope had been that Seven could heal her, with or without his memories.<p>

They don't tell him much of course, only that everything rides on him being able to work some kind of miracle. And, even while suffering from amnesia, this new Castiel hates to disappoint just as much as the old one did. Hates seeing an innocent child in pain.

He _does_ heal her. To everyone's surprise, most of all his own.

He lays his hands on her, and feels the damage begin to mend beneath his touch. Feels the otherworldly strength flow into his fingers and palms from the center of his chest, some deep reservoir of power he would have never imagined he could tap into. He sees the light seeping out of his own body, knows the way that this is a sacred part of him. He can't fathom why, only that it's an instinct, a calling—mightier than anything he can ever recall feeling.

Then the demons come.

Primed with a rather ingenious ambush, too, because _since when_ do the everyday bumps in the night like _shtrigas_ join forces with the top dog fiends of Hell? These are Dean's running thoughts when he starts unloading ammo into anything that moves who isn't an angel or crazy old drunk.

But the leviathans are making everybody into desperate sons of bitches, as it turns out. So that means Dick Roman, in addition to the Winchesters and their allies, are _numero uno_ on every supernatural creature's hit list. And since Roman and the other black-gooed jackasses are next to untouchable, the Winchesters are priority again.

_Fan-freaking-tastic._

Every creature, possessed and small, is in active survival mode—_top of the food chain_ being the most sought after position in the encompassing hierarchy. And what better way to secure a position in the hellspawn presidential suite than to erase Sam and Dean Winchester off the playing field? It's the Dark Ages all over again, and the simple and terrifying truth of the matter is… no one was really safe anymore.

Not the Winchesters.

Not Cas.

Not Jody.

Not Frank.

Not anybody who so much as looked at them with friendly eye.

* * *

><p>When Seven and Dean return, Seven is different. Not just in the way he carries himself a little straighter, a little taller, or the way his eyes are no longer so vacant. It's in the power radiating off of him that Jody realizes, before Dean even has to tell her.<p>

He remembers.

In fact, according to the hunter, he'd veritably turned a city block into a parking lot protecting his friend from the onslaught of demons, and now he's a little drained and a great deal miserable. Jody thinks it's because of 'the past,' of things she doesn't know the whole story to yet. A part of her wonders if she ever will, and if she even wants to.

"After he leveled the place, he passed the hell out," says Dean. "When he woke up, he remembered."

"Remembered what?" asks Jody, echoing her earlier words without even meaning to. Who he was? What he was? What he'd done? Who Dean was…? So many possibilities.

"Everything," is the hunter's heavy reply. "Every goddamn thing."

This simple, yet grave summation of the events makes the air around them grow thick with tension. The angel excuses himself by way of abandoning the room, and Dean looks torn between anger and relief and a dozen other things. He watches him go, saying nothing.

Jody's torn, too; her loyalties in conflict. She doesn't really know who to follow, but Dean swears he's _fine_, and marches off to be alone. So, Jody goes to the very lonely-looking angel sitting underneath the tree a ways from her porch. There's a desolation surrounding him that makes her stomach flip sadly, and he doesn't react to her presence like he used to.

The starlight catches the angles of his face, making him seem more ethereal than usual. This… _this_ is more of what she'd been expecting, upon their first meeting. This… _otherness_ to him that sets him apart from every other thing she's come across.

_This_ is Castiel.

She feels smaller, somehow, standing before him like this. And yet not. He is the fallen star and she is the blade of grass, but they've shared things now. They've kept each other's secrets and that means something that can never be erased. Even still, her mind wades in circles, no longer sure of where she stands with him.

This is the creature she has cooked breakfast for, but it also is the same creature who has traversed eons, smote demon hoards as easily as she might swat a fly. He has been to Hell and back. He has known death and felt its icy grip.

Jody doesn't know the full weight of what exactly Castiel is, but it's plain to her eyes that he is not human at all, but rather an alien trapped in a mortal husk. There is a focus to him now, a practiced severity that lends the reminder he is of Heaven and not of earth. A terrible, dangerous beauty. But, even still, there is the secret bow of those shoulders that betrays he _can_ and _does_ feel pain, just as any creature would.

His sad, stricken gaze is set out past the small pond beyond her property, searching. _Hungering_—for anything that might offer that unattainable peace.

"Castiel?" Jody says, the inflection of her voice conveying so many things. Sympathy, hesitance, resignation, and ultimately kindness. It's the first time she's spoken his true name since that day laying eyes on him in her living room. This time, somehow, she knows he'll answer to it. The moon disappears behind a cloud and the wind shifts, rustling the branches idly within the treetop. He's no more than a silhouette now. Jody watches his head bow, and maybe he won't answer, after all. "You want me to stay out here with you?" she asks, folding her arms against the slight chill.

"That isn't necessary."

His reply is quiet, too quiet to really be heard, but Jody hears him anyway. She tilts her head, those too-knowing eyes arrowing past his defenses as though transparent. He's learned too much from the Winchesters, in particular their methods of avoiding emotion. "You sure? I don't mind."

The silence stretches on, like a chasm between them. There's this tension she can't quite place, festering like an open wound. Jody can hear the crickets and feels twilight's caress as it reaches pinnacle; fireflies gather along the pond bank, lighting up reeds swaying in the breeze. His voice breaks through finally, just another transient layer to the soundtrack of midnight. "I would… prefer to be alone right now."

It's not a lie, but it isn't quite the truth either.

It's evident how much the genocidal display in the streets hours ago has exhausted him, but the emotional devastation wrought upon his shoulders is even more prevalent. "Alright," Jody says, relenting, and she angles back to head for the house.

She makes it about a quarter of the way before she hears that low, inimitable voice calling back to her, barely loud enough to catch over the wind. "Jody?"

She turns, eyes on him, looking so open and forgiving, even though she cannot fathom the extent of what he's done. Of what he is capable. The moon reappears, lending brightness to the blue depths of his eyes, allowing her the brief glimpse of sorrow.

"Thank you."

Jody nods her head and offers him the ghost of a smile before navigating the rustling grass back to the house. _Don't stay out here too long_, she wants to tell him. There's no reason for him to be alone. No reason for his fight to be one of solitude. _No man is an island_, and all that. But her throat closes up for some reason, and the words die on her lips.

It's too close to home. So she lets the moment pass, for now.

_No one likes a hypocrite, Jody._

Hesitating though, shoes catching over the soft ground, she notices the suggestion of that all-too-human emotion as it skirts along his face, but doesn't think he wants to delve into that burrow of pain just yet. And, more even, Jody can see how much he wants to just forget it all. The innocence he'd possessed in not knowing, in blessed amnesia, is now gone, and she can't help but feel responsible.

He'd told her that morning that she'd given him exactly what he needed. Having his identity back was important, knowing who he _was…_ was important. Having that knowledge, it was a vital piece of the puzzle; he would never be able to move on, experience closure, without those memories to sustain him. Memories that were now poisonous as a snake's venom.

_"You said the right thing, Jody."_

She wishes she could believe that.

* * *

><p><strong>Up next:<strong> _D is for Defend_.

Also? Every time you don't review, Castiel is stabbed by Rachel. Don't let the woobie get stabbed. We all like angel!whump, but think of Bobby's fridge and how long it takes to wash angel blood off.


	4. D is for Defend

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay, guys. My internet's been wonky. And thank you for the reviews!

* * *

><p><strong>D is for Defend<strong>

* * *

><p>Skinwalkers.<p>

Jody doesn't care for them. Not a bit. As far as supernatural creatures go, they suck a lot of ass. Ghosts were relatively easy to deal with, as were most other beings she'd come across, thus far. But something about skinwalkers… they tended to, not unsurprisingly, make her skin crawl. It could have been the lack of ever knowing where your enemy was, seeing as they could take the form of any animal—usually canine. It didn't help that Jody loved dogs, and hated the idea of having to kill anything resembling one, monster or not. Her disdain of them, however, overruled any warm and fuzzy feelings towards their preferred shape.

The woods had been comparatively sparse once the quad-group split up—Dean with Frank and she with the angel—but now they're getting into the thick of it and there are about a dozen burrs stuck to her legs. As the vegetation grows denser, so do the shadows. Every twig snap sets her a little more on edge, but, outwardly, she's just as cool and professional as when carrying out her duties as sheriff. _Gotta keep up appearances when you're hunting with the boys_.

Earlier, she'd tried not to think about the way the hunter choosing the crotchety grump over him had obviously stung Castiel. Before words could be exchanged on the matter, Dean posited that it was the logical choice. You just don't send your two best hunters out together.

Of course, it's more than that. _Isn't it always? _

Dean had, however, taken the angel aside long enough to tell him, "You protect Jody, do you understand me?"

Castiel nodded gravely, eyes flitting briefly to the sheriff.

"Come on," she'd coaxed him after that, nudging him along. "First one to bag a monster mutt gets the pie in my fridge."

Dean didn't even crack a smile at that, and Jody braced herself for the long, tension-filled day of mediating ahead of her. _Great._

She hugs her shotgun a little tighter against her slight frame, navigating now through the brush with the angel following at her side. The ease in which he moves through their stifling environment has her feeling envious, because he doesn't appear to be struggling at all. Not with the clawing undergrowth, anyways. The black coat he wears over his shirt and dark jeans brushes at his thighs, but might as well be a pair wings with how it billows enigmatically in the wind. There's still a part of her that just can't get over him. But then, he still doesn't look like an angel until he's acting like one. That is: smiting the hell out of things and leveling city blocks while doing it.

The deeper in they go, the stiller everything becomes, and, when they hit a clearing, the afternoon sun illuminates the field ahead of them. The shadows recede and, with it, a good portion of their vigilance. A blue jay calls to its mate, the leaves rustle high above and around them. It's a nice day, apart from the dangerous hunt, paving their path.

"How goes it over there, sidekick?" Jody asks, rousing her companion from his silent thoughts.

Castiel's eyes are fixed on their surroundings, sweeping every corner, every tree and stone, watching intently for movement. As though he doesn't trust the forest. "Adequate," he says. His voice is far off in quality, and he's answered her question at face value only. It's really no secret what it is that's weighing so heavily on his mind. Jody hates to pry into the middle of their unspoken and ongoing conflict, but she's never been that good at discretion.

"Dean'll get over it."

Castiel's eyes flit briefly to hers. "Why do you say that?"

Jody shrugs, boots crunching the dry grass underfoot. "He always does."

"His views are…" Castiel hesitates, searching for the right words, "black and white." He remembers a time when his were as well, and it feels like a millennia ago. Another life, long since out of reach.

Jody snorts. "He's done his fair share of awful, believe me. We all have. No sense pointing fingers. Life's too short and too bloody, especially for people like us."

The angel's head shakes. "It's different," he murmurs, gaze crawling along at his feet. "He's human. You're human."

That makes her stop. It's an argument that always runs in circles, she gathers—never really settled, not even totally disputed. No beginning, no end, just round and round. When they hunt monsters, Castiel classifies himself with the beasts they are hunting. "You're an angel, Castiel. Not a monster," Jody reminds him. "There's a difference."

The unspoken question hangs over them, heavy in the air. _Is there?_

"Dean will have to kill me one day." He is too much of a liability _not_ to be dealt with eventually. For the moment, he was useful, but when the moment came when he no longer was, there was a certain inevitably that couldn't be ignored. "It's only a matter of time."

_Who better to?_

Jody needs to get that sentence out of her head. Out of his. Because it sure as hell isn't doing anyone any good. "Fatalistic dumbasses," she mutters to herself, eyes rolling fiercely. The Winchesters would never change, and—wonder of wonders—they rubbed off on the little cloudfluffer as well.

Castiel perceives her distress soon enough, though, reading into her sudden demeanor shift with that unnerving sort of way he has. Usually with all the grace of a hammer, too, but this time it isn't quite so invasive. "Jody?"

She offers him a falsely bright smile, diverting the topic before it has a chance to evolve into something nasty. "Come on, angelface, let's have some fun."

Castiel's brow quirks. He's unable, since their first meeting, to not be fascinated by her. "Fun," he echoes, suspicious of the word. "We're hunting a skinwalker," he says, "I doubt we'll have any _fun_."

Jody expels a sharp sigh, genuinely more amused than annoyed, and levels him with a narrowed-eyed glare before breaking the head off a cattail and lobbing it at him. "Party foul." It strikes him in the chest and the angel blinks, watching it fall to the ground.

She continues on, heedless of his confusion, and it's almost a full minute before she feels his hesitant stare wander back to her. "What… what kind of fun?"

Her lips pull into a satisfied smirk. "So, the puppy eyes and sulking works on you. Good to know." Jody thinks a moment, weighing the many possibilities. She offers him a few suggestions, curious if he's ever heard of any of the games she knows, only to be met with a blank look almost every time. "What about cards? Has anyone ever taught you to play poker?" There's obviously no call for card games in the middle of the woods, but she can't help but ask.

"Dean tried once. But he kept changing the rules."

Jody chuckles to herself, not at all surprised. She casts him a companionable look as they walk. "We'll try a hand when we get back, and you can see if you do any better against _me_. I Spy, how about that game?"

At the return of his blank stare, her suspicions are confirmed. "I'm not familiar with that," Castiel says.

"I Spy is a guessing game, usually with two or more players. One person chooses either a letter of the alphabet, or color, and says, 'I Spy, with my little eye, something beginning with, or the color of…' And everyone else has to guess the object based on that, and it goes around in a circle until you're done playing." He seems to absorb the rules easy enough, because he doesn't ask any questions. "You ready?" Jody grins her approval, armed with their entertainment of choice, and there is something both terrifying and challenging in the white glint of her teeth in the afternoon sun. Castiel can't help but be compelled by it.

"I suppose so."

Jody gives him an encouraging nudge. "Oh, come on. It's time to loosen you up, flyboy. By my guess, it's a long time coming."

His transient smile is hesitant and a little forced, more self-conscious than anything, and Jody knows he's trying to please her. Maybe even he's willing to try out this _fun_ business. Who knows?

As they cut across the field, having given him the cliff notes of the game, her first hint comes when she spies something yellow. Sure, it's a silly thing to do while on the hunt for vicious, murdering beasts, but it's better than seeing that unremitting melancholy in his eyes every time she looks at him. And, truthfully, for Castiel, he'd been a bit surprised when she explained the rules to him—if he had to guess, he'd think it was a children's game. But what does he know?

If anything, past experience when it came to human interaction and societal norms would indicate he still had much to learn.

The angel takes a moment, thinking carefully, as though decoding this great mystery lies on the fate of the world. His answer, sadly, is one of the most anticlimactic Jody has ever heard. "Grass."

"Grass is usually green, Einstein," she chuckles, giving him a wink to assure him that her barb is meant only in jest.

Castiel points at their feet, not to be swayed. "This pasture is dead."

"More brown than yellow, you ask me."

He takes note of the stubborn set of her jaw, the challenging lift of an eyebrow on her face, and something in his thoughts advises him to forfeit this one. "I'll concede that."

Seeing the glint of satisfaction in her eyes, Castiel can't help but feel strangely pleased for having been the one to put it there. He offers up several more guesses in the span of five minutes, the hum of birds and other critters providing the only backdrop except for her occasional dismissal of his answers.

Jody happens to glance at him when he falls suddenly silent, noting the crease of frustration between his brows, and the intensity of his already penetrating stare. His blue eyes are squinted in deep concentration, belying the frivolity of the game. Jody smirks, and, halfways joking, asks, "Are you reading my mind?"

That frustration becomes more prominent, his head tilting a bit. "Trying. It's difficult…"

"_What_?" squawks Jody, and she skids to a stop to face him head on with a look of affronted disapproval. "That's cheating, you can't do that!" Never mind her stunned disbelief at his apparent psychic capabilities.

"Oh." Castiel looks repentant, if a little bewildered by her outburst. "I'm sorry."

Jody shakes her head at him, genuine amusement making her eyes bright. "The daisies, smart ass." He follows the extension of her index finger to the patch of flowers just a short reach away. The sheriff chuffs his shoulder affectionately with hers. "Too busy looking at dead things."

Or, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Castiel's entire demeanor shifts. His frame tenses in a way that suggests he's coiled to fight.

"What is it?" asks Jody seriously, immediately catching on. Her shotgun is already primed and ready at his silent warning.

Suddenly, he's shoving her behind himself with one arm, the other drawing the machete from inside his coat and slicing in one smooth arc. The skinwalker—a grey wolf in its current state—crumples, dead and bloody, to the ground. It all unfolds in a matter of seconds.

Castiel turns back to her, wiping off the blade in the tall grass. "Are you all right?"

Jody stares, impressed. "Hot damn." She grins, patting the stock of her firearm. "Didn't even have to waste a shell."

"Watch the grass," he cautions gruffly, shoulders squared against invisible threats. Jody steps beside him so that they're back to back.

The demon straggler that attacks them a moment later takes them both by surprise, but not so much as the skinwalker had. Jody ends up having to use a shell after all, three or four in fact. But, when Castiel finally gets a hold of the possessed male, hand closing over the demon's face in an angelic deathgrip, he shoves the abomination to the ground almost as an afterthought. A harsh burst of light explodes from within, the second his skin connects.

The demon is dead, so is the skinwalker. They're both still alive. _Score one for Team Dysfunctional_, thinks Jody. She gets out her cell phone to call Dean with the news, and the call is connecting when her surly growl at the current circumstances carries across the field. "Sorry. I guess the game was a stupid idea. What the hell's with all these demons, teaming up with… Castiel?"

Her tone has taken on a worried edge, and suddenly everything is _wrong_.

He's staring down at his hand, the one he'd used to smite the demon, confused at the drops of red that have gathered on his palm. When his unsettled gaze lifts to hers, Jody quickly discerns the glassiness of his eyes and the deathly pallor of his skin. Worst of all, the blood on his lips.

His eyelids flutter, body swaying. Jody's drops her phone, already reaching out to him. "Castiel? Honey?"

She tries to catch him, but he's heavier than he looks, and they both slide to the ground. She says his name a few more times, and she can hear Dean's tinny voice barking at her from her phone's speaker, demanding to know what's going on. Jody scoops it back up, swiftly directing him to where they are. Beneath her, the angel's body has become wracked with tremors. Castiel looks to be in and out, unresponsive to anything she says, his breathing labored.

When Dean and Frank finally arrive, the former starts interrogating her like a madman, demanding to know what happened, if something had done this to him, how badly he was hurt, what his symptoms were, if there were any more threats in the area, and Jody can't reply fast enough.

Every answer she gives him is nothing but one giant, burning question mark.

When they finally get him upright—Frank hoisting the angel up by the shoulders and she by his feet—Dean hangs back, only for a second, caught by the illusion of what could have been a fading imprint of black wings on the meadow grass. He'll never know if he'd actually seen them, or if it had simply been the product of his harried thoughts, because, when he looks again, they are gone.

Shoving his head back into the game, Dean tears the impala's keys out of his pocket and hefts his weapon.

* * *

><p>The trip back to the sheriff's house takes under an hour, but it does nothing to quell the threesome's shared anxiety, nor does the bumpy car ride benefit the already afflicted angel passenger at all. More blood is coughed from his lungs, and Jody deigns to stay with him in the backseat, helping keep him upright and shaking him awake when it looks like he might slip into unconsciousness.<p>

She meets Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "How's he doing?" the hunter asks tightly.

Jody coaches the angel through another recovery of choking coughs, running her hand soothingly over his back. Her expression pulls into a worried grimace when he begins shuddering underneath her touch.

Jody shakes her head. She doesn't have any idea.

* * *

><p>They've laid him out on the sofa in the den, Jody not happy until she's covered him with at least a couple of blankets. He's looking a little better now, she thinks. Not quite so pale. However, she doesn't know anything about angel physiology, so it's all guesswork on her part. His eyes are half-lidded, breathing still a little rough, but there's some color back in his face and he hasn't coughed up any blood since her driveway.<p>

It's Dean who eventually figures it out. "Not the first time he's lost his powers," he says to Jody as they stand outside the room, surrounded by her concern and his forced, blasé attitude that does nothing but fall flat. "He'll deal. It ain't that bad."

It takes a moment for Dean's callous words to even register with her. "Not that _bad_?" Jody hisses back at him, her voice low. "It is when it's all he has _left_. When it's all he's _known_." _Or when he collapses in the middle of a fight, which is seriously bad for everyone_. The idea that the angel can no longer call on his God-given powers without experiencing some sort of consequence is a startling one. At least it hadn't happened in the middle of an all out, kill or be killed, combat strike. Small favors, but it's still very dangerous to all of them—most of all, Castiel. Whatever _is_ going on, it's obviously a big deal.

Dean tenses up at her abrasive tone, and Jody shakes her head, breaking eye contact with him. "You know, Dean… I love the hell out of you, but sometimes I'd like to crack you over the head with a tombstone."

The hunter bristles. "What are you talking about?"

Her jaw sets, dark eyes going frigid. "You shouldn't treat him the way you do." When he makes to interrupt, Jody heatedly cuts him off, driving her point home. "And Bobby wouldn't like it, either." She instantly bowls over a second attempt at rebuttal, not giving him an inch. "He talked about Castiel a lot to me. Do you know he considered him a son? Said when _that goddamn feather duster_ showed up at his house once, bleeding and unconscious, he nearly had an arrhythmia on the spot. Had to drink a whole bottle of Jack before he quit worrying long enough to do something. Old fool blasted Castiel awake with a pair of jumper cables—Bobby was so terrified that more angels would come, and that he wouldn't be able to protect him." Jody's finger stabs into the den, emphasizing her point. "To Bobby Singer, that angel was loved just as much as he loved the two of you boys."

"Don't even pretend like you know _anything_," Dean fires back, and Jody can hear the banked anger in his voice. "You have _no idea_ what he did—the _mess_ he made, that I have to _clean up_!"

Jody doesn't say anything for a long time, seeing how much pain the man across from her is actually in. Seeing the way he holds back on her account, on the angel's, and maybe even his own. When she does finally speak, her voice is tight with certainty, low and soft with her usual bluntness. "What I _do_ know? Is what he is _now_. That he stepped in front of me before that skinwalker could flay me alive. That he's _killed_ for you. _Died_ for you." At these words, she sees the hunter's resolve slip just a little, a fissure appear in that steely mask of indifference. "No matter what he's done, Dean… _remember_ _that_."

Dean's gaze drops from hers, the sheriff's words having an apparent effect on him. Without another word, he leaves her and the threshold of the room behind. Letting him go, Jody turns back to the grounded angel, slipping into the room and making her way over to him.

Castiel feels the cushions sink down beside him and he opens his eyes, seeing the sheriff's worried smile come into focus. "Hey," she says.

"Hello, Jody."

She takes in his appearance, eyes combing over him clinically before they circle back to his. "How ya feeling?"

"Strange," Castiel replies, his voice a hoarse, gravelly rasp. "I still feel my grace, still feel Heaven, only… something's different." Defeated confusion paints across his face. "I'm not sure what to think."

His reply not inspiring much confidence, Jody's dark eyes fill with concern. "Does it still hurt?"

Castiel doesn't quite understand that, either. Her worry over him. "Not anymore. Though, I'm… not used to things hurting. This body, I feel it too keenly. It's… distracting." He looks up at her then, regret skipping across his face. "I'm sorry for burdening you. You don't have to watch over me."

Everything about her softens in that moment. "Is that what you think, honey? You're not a burden," Jody earnestly tells him. "If I didn't want to be here right now, I wouldn't." Warm fingers close around the sleeve of his wrist, giving it a squeeze. "In any case, I'm glad you're better. You had us really worried, there, for awhile."

Castiel's brow furrows into a little crease, blue eyes conveying his lack of understanding. That's when he drops the bombshell that will eventually come to haunt Jody for many nights to come. "But it wouldn't matter really, if I died." There is nothing remarkable about him—he'd served his purpose, and then succeeded in tearing everything down around him, everything the Winchesters had built up. If anything, he is a liability. _Cursed_. Today only reaffirmed that.

And the way he says it, just like he's commenting on the placid day on the other side of her window. Jody actually quells the sudden urge to hit him for even thinking such a thing. _Idiots—the both of them. Damn stupid masochists._ "It matters to _me_," she tells him, with such conviction that Castiel actually rethinks what he's just said. Her mouth has sharpened into a thin line, and she's looking down at him with icy firm resolve.

"Why?" he asks finally.

"Because. You're family." _Whether you like it or not, dumbass. Welcome to the home of misfit losers. We have jackets and angst, grab a beer and join the pity party. _

There's a familiar flash of pain that skirts across his eyes, before he lowers them to his hands. He's heard those words before.

"Look at me," Jody instructs him, and Castiel obeys. "You are not going to die, Castiel."

"I should," he murmurs, looking away. "I'd prefer to."

"_Enough_." Jody's tone is fierce, her expression more so. "That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let you. And neither is Dean. No matter how much of an ass he is, he missed you like hell, and, if you die, I don't think he'll ever be the same again. He wasn't the first time they lost you."

They've only known each other for little over a week, but he believes what she's telling him anyhow. Jody has that way about her. Sincere, direct, and at times brutally honest. But, that glimmer of real kindness in her eyes softens any blow her clipped words might incite.

Castiel nods, the motion limited by the pillow. He observes the lines of stress cut into her face, the tight press of her lips, and the way her grip has tightened on his arm. "I've upset you."

He's sorry about that, too, but doesn't really know how to say it.

Jody sighs deeply, staring out the window until a halfhearted puff of laughter escapes her. Turns out, she's good at redirection. "No wonder you always kicked Dean's ass at poker." Castiel says nothing in reply. Her shoulders sag, energy deserting her. _What a terrible day._ "So much for our game, huh?"

There's no response for a very long time, but when her companion starts talking again, Jody's taken by surprise.

"It wasn't a stupid idea, Jody," Castiel tells her quietly, addressing her earlier remark. "The game? I enjoyed it. It was… fun."

Jody turns to smile down at him, completely charmed. She sees the clumsy tip of lips, the attempt at a smile of his own—or at least something approaching one—and bites her lip to keep from laughing. "You're a terrible liar."

Castiel grimaces at his failed effort, leaning back into the cushions to mope.

Jody chuckles at the sight. "You know, you never did get your turn at I Spy."

He concedes that with a soft noise, eyes lifting to meet hers. "Is there a purpose to it?"

Jody's smile widens a little more, and she shakes her head. "No. It's just a children's game." She'd played it constantly with her son, it being a favorite of theirs. Not that she thinks Castiel a child, but playing it again had brought her comfort—a warm, safe feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. The familiarity was nice. Still… something tells her now that this creature in front of her never actually _had_ the chance of being a child. Did angels age beyond what they were upon creation?

"Seems… pointless," Castiel muses.

Jody knows his words aren't meant to be cruel, and voices her curiosity aloud. "What were you doing when you were a child?"

Castiel replies immediately, only proving her point. "When I was a fledgling, I was being trained in our garrison's combative armies. Learning the practice of Enochian sigilism, strategizing in the field, the steps of approaching a vessel, how to bank with the wind for speed, how to…" He trails off at her expression, and Jody's impressed with his deduction of her reaction.

_Did he never fly just to fly?_

Jody gives the angel's chest a gentle pat. "That's the point, Castiel."

"Cas," he murmurs, low enough that she doesn't quite hear him.

"Hmm?"

He looks suddenly very vulnerable, like he's on the verge of regretting ever saying it. "My… friends. They called me Cas."

This registers with her, and it means something. She can tell how much it means to him to reveal this piece of his past. It's a sacrifice, monumental in its simplicity. Jody nods, not taking the confession lightly. "Okay, Cas." She leans forward, dropping a chaste kiss on his forehead. Castiel blinks at the gesture, feeling a contented and unfounded warmth spread through him. "Show me what you got," she says then, a spark of challenge in her eyes.

Castiel rises to it, because even angels enjoyed a challenge, and he begins his turn.

_You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies. _

The angel frowns at the unbidden and painful memory, mouth parting and closing before the words can fall from his lips. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed. "I… detect something white."

Jody intuits his discomfort at the word he can't use, but doesn't say anything on the matter. For a moment, he looks worried she will. Instead, she tells him, "You're supposed to say _with my little eye_."

Relief floods through him, tension draining. "My eyes are not little. My true form is approximately the size of—"

Jody laughs. "Okay, okay, something white…" She looks around the room with exaggerated scrutiny. Everything she guesses is wrong, and, the more she guesses, the more quietly triumphant the angel becomes, until it just comes spilling out of him.

"The wall," blurts Castiel, actually looking a little smug.

Jody cackles at his cheap victory. "The _wall_, Cas? God, that's so boring, you can't spy the _wall_."

Castiel ignores the wanton blasphemy and replies, "Now you're the one changing the rules. I believe I've won."

"I never knew angels were such sore winners," Jody retorts, in good humor. She can't help but be delighted by his change of mood.

"My kind were built for victory."

Jody throws her head back in a hearty laugh. _Obviously._ "I can't tell if that's bragging or angel honesty."

"Gabriel once said that it couldn't be considered bragging, if it was true." The angel's expression screws up into one of reconsideration, upon further thought. "Then again, Gabriel also indulged profusely in gluttony and sexual promiscuity, so I'm not certain he's the wisest authority on the matter."

Jody, for the next few hours, resigns herself to the trouble of aching sides and hurting cheeks, laughing so hard at times that the occasional tear slipped free. She stays with him long after the sun has set behind the cloudbank, reading to herself in a nearby armchair when he rests, often wondering to herself what it might be like to fly.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Reviews, get this... cure sadsackery. And also doldrums. And other such things.

Also? TOMORROW IS THE DAY. HE'S BACK.


	5. E is for Elevate

**Author's note:** You guys get two today! Perhaps even three, if I have time.

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><p><strong>E is for Elevate<strong>

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><p>These phone calls with the psychiatric hospital take more out of him than they give. Dean wonders if he wouldn't just be better off letting the staff call him if there was any change, rather than this constant eddy of disappointment. But then, if he's honest with himself—which is slim pickings, these days—there's absolutely no way he can't <em>not<em> call. He needs to know, even if it hurts. And what kind of brother would he be if he didn't call? He knows, ultimately, the one responsible for putting his brother there, but he is not so innocent himself. How many people had warned him of this outcome? How many of them did he ignore? These are the conflicts of his thoughts as he beelines for Jody's fridge, and the bottles of alcohol it contains.

Dean stops short as he passes by the study, and the sight inside.

Despite that the room has apparently gained angel of the Lord approval—Cas hardly ever leaves it when they have nothing else to do—Dean can honestly say he never expected this.

The angel is asleep (an oddity in itself) with his head pillowed on the sheriff's lap, her fingers carding slowly and gently through his dark hair. Jody's eyes are drowsy and half-mast, staring into the lulling flames crackling softly in the corner. There may be a kink in her neck by the angle she's holding it, but she makes no complaint.

They both look more comfortable on that sofa than Dean has ever seen either of them. He edges into the room, not quite sure what to make of it. "Hey."

Jody's head raises at the sound of his voice, a tired smile lifting her face. "Hey," she replies. At his expression of confusion, her head bows to indicate the angel. "He mentioned a headache, so I thought…" Jody trails off in a pondering way, not really completing the sentence and not really needing to.

"Oh."

A small laugh, barely even enough to break the silence, snares the hunter's attention. Dean looks back at Jody and sees the warmth and endearment evident on her face. "He didn't even wake up when I moved him. I don't think he even realized he was falling asleep. Must be strange, having something like that sneak up on you." She's fascinated by him; couldn't help her instant attachment, and she's glad her efforts to minimize his discomfort seem to have helped. The lines of pain on his face are mostly gone now.

Dean frowns a little in what could be concern. "Does he get them a lot?"

Jody purses her lips and shakes her head. "The headaches? I don't really know. I think it has to do with getting his memories back, maybe?" She doesn't know much about celestials, but her guess is the best they have.

Dean glares down at his feet, running a hand over his mouth. "Angels shouldn't be getting headaches."

"Well, he does."

Dean's a little surprised by the edge in her voice, especially since it's directed at him. Her expression being fairly neutral, he can still discern the glint of disapproval in the caramel of Jody's eyes. This only annoys him more—he doesn't even know why.

The crackle of the fire is the only sound for a long time.

"Whatever," murmurs Dean, leaving them at the prospect of his own nap—and maybe something with alcohol, as he'd originally intended.

Castiel stirs, but doesn't wake, and Jody leans into the cushions, sighing heavily and resting her head against the back of the couch. As her eyes close and sleep creeps up on her as well, she sends up another prayer that everything will eventually work itself out. For all their sakes.

She's been doing it more frequently lately, and, whether or not anyone's listening, she'll keep with it.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing with Jody?"<p>

Castiel looks up in confusion when the hunter confronts him in the kitchen the next day. Truthfully, he's more surprised that Dean is actually talking to him, rather than feeling offended by the accusing tone. "I don't understand."

"Since when do you actively interact with humans you just met? I mean, what are you trying to get at? Is this some kind of angel study that's gonna fly right over my head, or what? See how the little ants are getting along?"

_What a brave little ant you are._

Dean knows it's a low blow, but the words come spilling out before he can stop them. Against the quiet, his words seem unnaturally loud. Moreover, the only response for a long time is the combination of hurt and confusion in the blue eyes looking back at him.

"I do not think Jody is an ant."

Dean considers the fleeting urge to slam his head into the nearest wall, because this is still _Cas_—who, nine times out of ten, doesn't even know what the term _ulterior motives_ means. Dean sees the way the angel's walls fly back up, and wonders, not for the first time, what the hell is wrong with him. As he asks himself this very question, Dean instinctively remembers the reason he no longer trusts the creature that pulled him out of Hell.

Even as Castiel's expression becomes so guarded and so disarrayed, Dean feels that same conflict. That anger, that hurt, and that ultimate desire to fix what's been broken.

"She's kind to me," Castiel's gravelly voice eventually says, low and unsure of itself. With Jody, he doesn't feel that loneliness so intensely, ever-encroaching as it is. There is a novel sense of _belonging_, not so unlike his time with the Winchesters and Bobby Singer. Perhaps he's wrong for wanting it, given everything he's done, but he can't help seek it out. To hold on to it. He hasn't been able to indentify it, whatever this is, but he feels its preciousness, knows the difference it makes in his life—whether Jody knows the effect she's had over him or not. "She makes me feel… better."

Now is when the hesitation comes. Much of Dean's anger subsides, his shoulders sagging in slow defeat. Cas is looking at him like he's trying so hard to understand. Just like always.

_Dean will know what to do. _

_Dean will know what to say. _

_Dean will know what's right. _

It always came down to this. Sometimes, Dean wishes he wouldn't forget this so easily. So _quickly_. Because, the truth of the matter is, they're all dealing with crap. They've all done so much evil, intentionally or not, and who is he to point fingers? Yes—what Cas did was _wrong_, and _painful_, and it hurt. Damn, did it hurt. But how were they any better? Collateral damage was practically their life motto. He and Sam both broke seals, invited the Apocalypse on earth. But, they hadn't known what they were doing. And—really—neither had Cas.

Hearts were always in the right place when one of them committed the most grievous sins.

"Is it wrong?" the angel asks, looking suddenly pitiful. Because… perhaps he deserves to be alone. Why should he not?

Dean chokes down any remote feelings of animosity or frustration or whatever the hell else it is that's setting him on edge, and eventually sucks it up, telling his former-friend that, "No, Cas. It's the opposite."

And he wonders if they'll ever be friends again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews pretty much make my life. Just thought you should know.

Up next: _F is for Forgive_


	6. F is for Forgive

**Author's note: **Sorry for the delay, guys. Life, and all that.

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><p><strong>F is for Forgive<strong>

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><p>The day she learns about <em>the past<em> is a difficult one.

For so long, any mention of it has been practically outlawed. Every subtle reminder has torn at old scar tissue, and, for a long time, it seemed as though it might finally be forgotten. Hear not, see not, speak not.

This of course only serves as a further reminder to them all that good things tended to fall ill, especially in their lives. Peace, it never lasts. Not for them.

Castiel looks uncomfortable, nearly squirming in his borrowed skin at the unreadable emotion in Jody's eyes. He realizes quickly that he's afraid of what she'll do. What she'll think of him. He's become familiar with her constant presence, fond of it even, and the token of comfort she provides when he needs steady ground to stand on. It's terrifying to think that it all might fall apart in the face of his devastating misdeeds. He's already lost so much, and perhaps it's selfish of him, but something in Castiel balks at the idea of losing her, too.

Jody is a source of light to all those around her, hard-hitting and snarky and too altruistic for her own good. He's been drawing on that strength since day one, since before he even knew who he was and now wishes he could forget. To lose that now would be unthinkable.

Unbearable.

He can't lose anyone else. He can't be alone again. He doesn't trust himself to be on his own. He desperately needs a lighthouse, a northern star, someone to guide him. Just… _something_ to hold on to when the walls close in. Whenever he's reminded of the brutal, awful things he's done.

Castiel blinks when, wordlessly, Jody grabs her purse, slinging it over her arm. Her eyes are sad and predictably distraught, the smile tugging at her mouth equally so. But, there's something else in her eyes too. Something more. "Why don't you come with me, storm cloud? I need to pick up some groceries for our hungry houseguests, and I could use a hand. Let's go, before my fridge runs dry."

He stares at her, shellshocked.

Jody pauses in the entryway, looking back over her shoulder at him. "Coming? Time to pull your weight around here, handsome. Rent isn't free, you know." Her smile becomes gentler, the quirk of it giving away how she's baiting him. "If you push the cart for me, we'll even find you a burger joint on the way home."

_Home._

The angel doesn't even have time to consider how she knows about his short-lived burger obsession before he's following after her, legs moving of their own accord. His eyes burn into the back of her head as they leave, unable to look away. There's something all at once painful and warm churning inside his core, and Castiel can't decide if he likes it or not. Despite all this, he is _touched_. That guilt warring inside of him settles just a little, and… suddenly, he doesn't feel so useless.

* * *

><p>There's a storm that evening.<p>

It's not a sign. The signs are less… literal, lately. And the storm is just weather. Castiel stands out in the middle of it all, gaze fastened to the clouds high above, and the occasional flicker of lighting in the distance. Thunder rumbles, giving contrast to the faint hiss of rainfall. It isn't a downpour so much, but it's enough to soak him to the bone, as he's been standing out there long enough. His shoulders and face are wet, black hair sticking in damp spikes.

Jody looks at him differently now. It would take a fool not to notice. But, the change isn't necessarily… bad. Because, despite his inconceivable dread over the issue, he doesn't think she looks at him like he's a monster. Which, in itself, is odd. Because, has he not behaved monstrously? But no—Jody's looking at him like he's human, as the rest of them are. It's confusing, and he has to really think about it to understand what it means. Though, Castiel predicts that he might never know completely. The rain helps.

He's always enjoyed storms. Darting through massive electrostatic discharges as they pierce the sky with light, wings spread against the angry thunderheads, utterly fearless. And, for that rare, singular moment, _free_. The sun always shone so brightly after; everything made clean and new in the aftermath. People often called bad weather _acts of God_—he liked to think of them as pure artistry.

Castiel feels the familiar presence some time later, when the weather still hasn't let up. She stands with him for a long time, neither of them saying anything. Castiel hears her shift anxiously, and mistakes it for discomfort at her proximity to him. He, the creature who proclaimed himself a god, and unleashed a wrath so fierce, the entire planet had been made to suffer. A true storm, unnatural in its disaster. Castiel shudders, and it isn't because of the cold.

"What do I do, Jody?" he asks, looking for all the world like a lost, hopeless child. He needs to fix things, but has no idea where to begin. He comes to her for answers now. And, when she has them, she gives them. If not, when she doesn't, she sits with him and talks—provides that touchstone he's been in such desperate need of. Castiel never has to say anything, because Jody does. Even if he doesn't know what to say, she'll say it for him.

That's how it had been.

Will it be the same now?

He's come to rely on her, grasping at her goodness, drawn in to her gravity. To lose it now would devastate him.

But again, Jody surprises him. "I don't know, honey," she murmurs into the night. It's not a rejection.

The impossible happens then, and it shakes him. Whether or not she'll ever live to regret it, the thing she tells him most after this night, a repeat of what transpires between them here and now, is three words.

"I forgive you."

The _always_ isn't spoken aloud, but it's implied.

It is the thing Castiel clings to as he does his own dwindling grace. No matter what he does, she will be there. They haven't put in the kind of time he and his garrison had, the kind he and the boys have, and it doesn't matter. Jody will triumph where the angels and the Winchesters have failed.

Another argument, earlier that day, had been the root of all this unraveling. Dean had scratched at old wounds, quite deliberately, and the resulting angel versus hunter death match made Jody queasy. In the end, it had been the angel to surrender every last dredge of pride in the face of pure and utter misery.

"I've lost my brothers, my sisters. The existence and order I knew, my own identity. Worse, my _family_. I have nothing, Dean. What more do you want from me? What could I possibly _do_ or _say_, to ever make it right?" Castiel's voice had caught over the words, revealing an emotion too profound for a supposedly soulless creature. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

He couldn't bear this. Every day he was losing strength and grace, and he couldn't do it anymore. This fighting. Castiel began to have a new understanding of how Gabriel must have felt—forced to flee from everything his instincts told him to run towards. Forced to suffer the weight of all that anger around him.

"Please," he begged, thinking that, if he said it again, Dean would tell him. "What do you want?"

Jody had heard it in his voice, unsurprised by the cloudiness of her eyes as she listened in from the other room. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but their screaming matches were hard to ignore for anyone. She felt the instinctual fear that came with the knowledge of Castiel's sins slowly vanish, heart reaching out to him. To both of them. No one should've had to deal with the things they did every day. There was no side she could pick that was right.

"I deserve all of this, Dean. I _know_ that. I deserved to die. But what can I possibly do? I'm still here, despite all logic, and as useless as I've always been. What is the point of my being alive? I don't know why I'm here, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Just _tell_ me."

Castiel only wanted to belong again. A peculiar thing he was.

All energy left him when the hunter said nothing—a more painful response there would never be. The angel's voice became little more than a quiet, pleading sigh. "You said I was family. That family," his voice broke over the word, "family is always forgiven."

Jody knew Castiel, guilt-ridden as he was, would never say such a thing unless Dean himself had indeed been the one to tell him that. More than anything, the angel was confused. Castiel didn't understand double standards—how could he? Angels, from what she gathered, were straight-shooting, speak-your-mind, beings of truth. And, as history would tell, apparently as unforgiving as stone. Once more, Jody found herself disappointed in her hunter friends. When Castiel had rebelled, his family in Heaven cast him out immediately—no hope for redemption, no forgiveness, no second chance. One mistake, albeit a grave one in their eyes, and he was rejected. Hunted.

How had the Winchesters' actions been any different than Castiel's own kin? It was one heaping, complicated wreck, and Jody hated to get in the middle of it all. Because, really? Neither side was strictly black or white.

So, she offers Castiel the only thing she can. Her forgiveness. Because, damn it, doesn't everyone deserve it?

He looks like he might fall over with the weight of her words, stunned into silence at their meaning. Overwhelmed that, when she looks at him, there is no hate, no judgment, no expectations. He doesn't need to prove himself to her, despite that she has every right to demand he do so.

"Everything will work itself out," Jody tells him. And it must, she thinks. It _must_. Because best friends forgive each other. Most importantly, whether Dean is angry or not—and he is—he still considers the angel a brother. The sentiment is definitely returned, she can see. Perhaps it's naïve to think all this, but to hell with it. They could do with a little naivety in the cynical lives they lead.

"Will it?" that deep voice wonders, weaving through the rain to wrap around her against the chill.

_It has to._

"Yes."

After a long time, Jody wonders why she isn't getting wet. When she finally does look down, she sees the dry outline around her, in what could be the shape of a wing. Her eyes travel upwards, overhead, seeing the dark shadow above her. Jody smiles.

And Castiel knows where he'll begin, what he must do.

He has to fix Sam.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> Reviews are clinically proven to cause lions to lay peacefully with lambs. Fact.


	7. G is for Gift

**Author's Note:** There's really no excuse for the delay, but I'm gonna use one anyway. New job, busy, busy, blah, blah.

On to the important things!

(Also... I may be changing the title of this in the near future, so it will read either 'The Alphabet of Castiel and Jody' or 'The A to Z of Castiel and Jody'. Feel free to vote on it. No idea why the urge to hit me, but I like these two better than what it is now. It shouldn't affect alerts or anything, but just in case - letting you guys know now. I might wait until it's finished to change it though. Less of a hassle for the readers, methinks.)

* * *

><p><strong>G is for Gift<strong>

* * *

><p>"I have something for you."<p>

Castiel looks up from the tome he's reading in time to see Jody pull up a seat across from him in the kitchen. Before he can respond, her hand is reaching across the table, palm up, a cell phone presented in her hand.

"Here," she insists, lips quirking secretively.

The angel's certain the punch line has already flown far over his head, and he stares at the phone with confusion. "You're giving me my phone?"

It _is_ his phone, after all. Briefly, Castiel wonders how she'd procured it from him without his knowledge. It's a mystery he'll never solve, by the mischief dancing in her eyes. It slides across the table in time with her laugh, nudging up against his fingers. "Be excited, featherpants. I pimped it out for you—and don't you tell a living soul that I just used the word _pimp_, or there will be serious violence in your future."

Castiel picks it up, turning it over, in search of clues. His curiosity eventually wins out. "What do you mean?"

He's inquiring of the phone and not her threat; the idea of her actually hurting him is laughable and... oddly, endearing. "Here, open it," Jody says, leaning over and pointing a finger to direct him through his investigation. "There are maps, in case you get lost. Games, if you get bored. I fixed your camera, so someday this week we're going to go out and see if you like photography. I also sussed out your texting if you need it or lose voice signal, and I updated your contact list so you can see the actual names when we call you. Best of all? Custom ringtones."

Her own phone is already poised for action, and with a thumb press, they wait.

Moments later, Castiel's phone starts vibrating in his hand, singing at him in a chipper voice. "_If you've got troubles, I've got 'em too… there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you… we stick together and can see it through… 'cause you've got a friend in me… you've got a friend in me..._"

JODY IS CALLING the screen tells him.

Castiel, for reasons he can't understand, finds himself smiling. It's slow at first, barely there and a little bemused, but unmistakable. He glances up, taking in the sight of her grinning eyes staring back at him. She's meant it as a joke, and yet not. It's funny how one little ringtone can hold so many meanings.

"It's from a movie," Jody tells him. Her son's favorite. "You probably haven't seen it, but we'll add it to the list." She takes a sip of her coffee. "So, what do you think? You like it?"

He nods. "Yes… thank you."

Jody chuckles and pours a second cup for him. "You can change it later if you want."

He never will.

He makes a face at the smell of the coffee though and Jody laughs harder. She drags her chair over beside his, hovering at his shoulder. "Alright, let's see if you're any good at Angry Birds."

* * *

><p>They haven't gotten around to that photography outing, but the sight before her eyes is definitely worth a picture.<p>

"An angel playing with a puppy," Jody observes, an amused smile curling her lips. "Don't see that every day."

Dean snorts. "A little one-sided to be _playing_."

Castiel had been standing guard over their vehicle while the sheriff and Dean had run into the supply shop to pick up the weekly essentials. A young girl had passed by on the sidewalk, a small dachsund straining against its leash to investigate the stoic-looking angel. It yapped happily, drawing Castiel's attention which quickly turned apprehensive at the overly eager intruder.

"Hi there," the teenager had said, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, little Rooster here is in a terminally good mood."

The angel's brow furrows. "This is a small dog, not a breed of poultry." It's said like a question, because he can't imagine confusing the two. Still, he doesn't want to offend.

A giggle. "No, that's his name. Rooster."

"Oh." He glances down at the spastic tugging of tiny teeth on his pant leg.

"Come on. Come on, Roostie. Let's go." But the puppy is staring up at the angel with wounded eyes and a neglected frown.

"What does it want?" Castiel blurts, at a loss and a little unnerved by the deprived stare.

"I think he wants you to pet him," the girl had said around a laugh. "You can, if you want."

Castiel had looked uncertain, but lowered himself as close to the puppy's level as he could. Hesitantly, he'd reached out and laid a large hand over the little thing's head, shrouding its face in shadow. The puppy huffed at the inconvenience, but was tolerant as his new friend figured out the proper procedure on how to play.

A stroke here, a scratch behind the ears there, and Rooster's tail was knifing happily through the air. Castiel smiled a little, finding himself immediately endeared to the pocket-sized creature. His own sudden contentment was unprecedented, but not unwelcome.

"He's nice," his gravelly voice observes now.

Jody chuckles from her place on the opposite side of the street. "That's freaking adorable."

Another snort from the hunter. "Like watching a grizzly bear try on ice skates."

Jody doesn't stop smiling. "He's sweet, Dean. He'll get his bearings eventually." It's the first time in a long time that the angel had put forth actual effort into learning how to behave like a human. Or rather, to pass as one convincingly. He's doing that a lot lately, because Heaven and Hell couldn't care less about a supposedly dead angel walking around. There are other concerns now and at least that weight has been alleviated from Castiel's ever-bowed shoulders.

"Yeah," Dean mutters, but there's no real venom there. He's just tired.

Jody notices his mood and sighs. "He's just trying to please you, you know. And honestly—maybe it's just seeing him like this, but I don't really believe that what happened… what he did? I don't think it was really him. Do you?"

She genuinely wants to know, brow knit with uncertainty, and Dean is at least smart enough to realize she isn't picking sides.

But still… that ever-present question. Had it really been Cas?

_No_, his mind shouts. "I have no idea," he says. "But if that were the case, why wouldn't he say anything?"

"Would he, though?" Jody points out, trying to understand, trying to help him understand.

Dean thinks about this, and the answer worries him. He hates to admit it—and yet he's a little relieved too. "No. Cas wouldn't say a thing." Because he'd learned how to deal with emotions the old fashioned Winchester way—bury it all and carry the blame. Guilt had been a part of a complete breakfast with Team Free Will.

Jody sees his conflict, sees the angel's conflict from across the street, and feels a heaviness on her heart. She just wants her two boys to get along. _Three_, counting Sam, but the younger Winchester has slipped into a coma and it isn't looking good. Adopting the angel into the family had been surprisingly easy. "I know you're having a hard time with things, and you're angry. You have every right to be, but just… ease up a little on him?"

Castiel idolizes the hunter, as every one knows. It's impossible to deny, and it's a shame things are so stormy. Jody is constantly disappointed at the way the two of them clash, because they're meant to mesh. The camaraderie is still there, she can sense it. And if she can get them working together again, in sync instead of at odds, everything else will fall into place.

Dean doesn't say anything. But he doesn't dispute it, either.

It's a step in the right direction.

* * *

><p>When the hunter and angel are out on their own separate hunt, it's then that things take a definitive turn. The latter had taken a rough beating from the Wendigo they were after, holding off the deformed creature while Dean had gone for the flares.<p>

Castiel is hurt, but shakes himself off and gets to his feet. To his surprise, Dean hovers at his side. "Hey man, you okay?"

The angel blinks, looking at him with a sort of bewildered apprehension. "Why are you asking me that?"

So far, since regaining his memory, it's been nothing but business between them. Every once in awhile the dam breaks, and there's arguments to put political debates to shame, but it's never… _this_. Not like it used to be. Castiel feels a pang in his chest at the possibility of mending fences, but buries the hope beneath the detatched front he struggles to maintain.

"Just... 'cause. You took a pretty bad hit back there. And, you know, I wanted to make sure you're five by five. Especially since your healing powers have taken a plunge lately."

"I'll be fine."

Dean sighs. Hanging his head, he stands in silence for awhile. "We never asked you that much, did we?"

Castiel answers with his usual silence.

The older Winchester nods, a flicker of self-reproach shining mutely in his gaze before dimming out to a dull resignation. "We should have. It's just… you're _Castiel_, angel of the Lord. You take hits, but you always get back up. I guess… when you died," here, Dean's voice hitches, "or when we thought you died… it sunk in that you could be killed. But by then, it was already too late."

The angel grimaces. "I apologize. I didn't mean for you to have to go through—"

But Dean is cutting him off, holding up a staying hand. "Just… _don't_, okay?" His lips upturn just that slight fraction, enough to let Castiel know that things are getting closer to normal. "Stow the angel motor-mouth for a second. You got a lot to be sorry for—hell, we _both_ do—but don't sweat the small stuff."

Castiel considers this. "Small stuff?"

"Things you don't have any power over."

In his pocket, Castiel's phone starts trilling, cutting off any further discussion. "_You've got a friend in me… when the road looks rough ahead, and you're miles and miles from your nice warm bed, you just remember what your old pal said… boy, you've got a friend in me…_"

Dean's smirk is a legitimately amused manifestation of his thoughts. "Nice ringtone, Buzz."

Castiel doesn't comment, instead answering his phone. He feels inexplicably lighter, reading her name across the display. "Jody?" There's a new job just a few miles out, she reports. But there's something else he has to take care of first. "If it isn't any trouble, could I speak with you in private?"

_Of course_, she tells him.

Castiel bids his thanks and hangs up, looking to Dean. "Do you require transportation?"

"You mean by Angel Airlines?" the hunter asks, shaking his head. Castiel, while suffering many new dangers with the use of his powers, still has little to no trouble zapping in and out of places. "Naw, I'll make it from here. What's up?"

"Something I have to do."

Without another word, Castiel is gone with a rustle of wings.

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><p>Jody starts at the sudden appearance of broody angel in her direct path. "Hey, Cas. That didn't take long." She takes in the look of him, the grim but determined set of his jaw. "Everything okay?"<p>

_Don't sweat the small stuff_, Dean had told him. _Things you don't have any power over_.

He'll concede the advice. But there are things he _does_ have power over. The abilities he still retains are a gift, and he isn't going to waste them.

"I need your help."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Up next... H is for Heal.

This one was light on Cas/Jody interaction, but the next couple chapters are REALLY going to kick things off. Review to your heart's content, because I know it contents mine!


	8. H is for Heal

**Author's Note:** So... the way I had written this scene in my notes months ago was VERY similar to how events actually went down in the show. I was going to change it, but eventually decided to just leave it as is.

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><p><strong>H is for Heal<strong>

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><p>Jody is not happy. In no way does she exhibit a sliver of favor towards this ridiculous plan, and yet here she is, dressed in an orderly's stolen uniform and standing guard at the barred threshold of Sam's room. She's tried stopping him, convincing him against this, in so many different ways it feels like her brain will melt with the rest of the wards'. So finally, in a last ditch attempt, her words form into the simplest protest, though it might just be the most profound.<p>

"What if this hurts you?"

"Jody. Please," murmurs Castiel to her softly from his vigil over the comatose Winchester brother lying on the bed. The angel speaks too calmly for the situation and Jody squirms anxiously in her concern. He can't say how much the consideration affects him; it's a comfort, but it doesn't change what must be done. "I have to do this."

So she lets him. It feels like a dream, watching the angel lay his hands on either side of Sam's temples and feeling the almost corporeal energy within the room as invisible walls are repaired and rebuilt. It starts out simple enough; his face calm but grim with concentration. His focus isn't deterred by anything. Not until the strain to force his healing Grace into the ruptured wall starts taking its toll. It will require every drop of heavenly power he can dredge up in his impaired state. Castiel's eyes squeeze shut and his body starts to tremble with exertion.

_Please, be enough._

"Cas," Jody says, before she can stop herself. It's a question and a plea, a manifestation of her concern that he'll not surrender to whatever affliction eats at his deteriorating Grace. She sees the trickle of blood break from his nose, sees the muscles of his jaw clench tight in an obvious inclination of pain, and she knows something's very wrong. This is too much for him. "_Castiel_."

Patterns of pure light flicker where Castiel's hands touch Sam's face, and the young hunter looks… better. The angel, on the other hand, undergoes a contrary effect. He sways in his seated position at the edge of the mattress, but he doesn't let up until it's done.

When it's over, Jody's there to catch him the moment his strength gives out and he sinks to the ground. On the bed, Sam Winchester opens his eyes. Eyes no longer cloudy with hallucinations or pain. It feels like waking from a nightmare, finally free.

But when he sees the cost, Sam's silent celebration is abruptly cut short.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

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><p>When Castiel wakes—finally, after two days—the first words out of his mouth are: "Is Sam okay?"<p>

Dean forgoes the use of words and forcibly hugs him. A strong embrace full of unspoken brotherhood and buried conflicts. "_Thank you_."

The angel is startled by the gesture, but remains dismally practical. "Dean, it was my fault that he—"

"No." Dean pulls back, giving him a hard, heartfelt look. "Don't do that. You just saved my brother. He's alive because of you."

The angel returns the look, something finally clicking behind his unearthly blue eyes. Even still, he cannot find the words and merely nods.

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><p>He sees Sam for the first time, and looks as though he wants to crawl away into a corner and hide himself from sight. Every trace of self-loathing gathers to the surface, clawing at his insides, and he's shamed all over again. But the gawky hunter smiles wide, looking more like a boy than a man, and pulls the angel into a crushing bear hug. "You're alive," Sam laughs. And then, more seriously, "Thanks, man."<p>

Castiel is overwhelmed. Jody can see the way his eyes have misted over, emotion looking like it might break free from the barriers of his lashes any moment. It doesn't, but only through the angel's herculean effort.

It's human emotion, and it's new and terrifying. But he's less concerned with novel experiences and more helplessly aware of the very literal open arms he's on the receiving end of.

It's like coming home.

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><p>Later, when they're alone, Jody brings him soup and makes him stomach it down.<p>

"I'm not hungry," is Castiel's polite attempt at a refusal. He isn't, and even with his declining powers, food remains unnecessary to him. But he's still not fully recovered from his little stunt at the hospital, and she'll have none of his excuses.

"Have some anyway."

He reluctantly complies, and she takes a seat beside him on the sofa, staring into the flames of the fireplace with him. He's come to regard her den as a sort of shelter. She's not really sure why, but the tension in his shoulders always withdraws when he's in here. She doesn't realize—and he'll never tell her—that it has less to do with the fireplace and more to do with his companion. He only ever wants to be alone when she's not there to fill the silence with her tacit voice and snarky affections.

In addition to the shock his celestial body has endured, Castiel still has not adjusted to the restoration of the broken relationships between he and his chosen family. It's jarring, the emotional onslaught that continues to plague him, even now. But when he looks to her, the dark honey of her eyes reflecting the flames, he feels like he has ground to stand on after all. Those eyes show him that the earth isn't giving way beneath him, that he isn't being torn in a dozen different directions by invisible forces. He's not drowning in holy fire—these are flames of mercy.

"You scared the hell out of me, angelface," Jody tells him, voice somewhere between warmth and a note of residual distress.

"I'm sorry," he responds.

The corners of her mouth curve just a little. "No you're not." Castiel feels her hand pat his forearm and concedes that she's right; Sam is better and he wouldn't change a thing. Even if it had been his last act of redemption, Castiel wouldn't change a thing. "But that's okay."

The soup is hot, but he enjoys the burn.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Can readers be bribed with cookies to review? If not... I'm open to suggestions for new ways of bribery. Just drop those suggestions in the review box and while you're there, you may as well post a thought or two on what you thought of the chapter! ;)


	9. I is for Invitation

**Author's Note: **First of all, thank you so much for the awesome reviews, guys! They've made my day. Secondly, there are a few things of note in this chapter. One, this idea sort of stemmed from Misha discussing how awesome this certain movie is at the All Hell Breaks Loose II convention in Australia (it's on a souvenir dvd). Two, Misha seriously does have a freaking adorable laugh. If you've never heard it, you need to cart your bottom over to youtube and start hunting.

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><p><strong>I is for Invitation<strong>

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><p>Things are very slowly falling into place, like broken puzzle pieces fitting back together. Castiel and the boys go on hunts together across stateliness and mountains and rivers, but Sioux Falls is always their final destination. The quaint, unassuming house of Sheriff Mills is home now. Though, perhaps more so for one of them than the other two. Dean and Sam are off celebrating a successful vanquishing, an offer they'd extended, but any fool can tell this was sacred brotherly bonding time. Dean had been without his little Sammy for months, if you thought about it, and he's missed him. They don't deserve an intrusion from outside parties.<p>

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><p>The sound of fluttering wings beside her is a pleasant surprise. Jody looks up to see their resident angel standing in her laundry room. "Hey, handsome. What's up?"<p>

"Hello, Jody." The way she always greets him with a smile—whether she's having a good day or not, bad mood or dead tired—it does interesting things to his insides. "I was," Castiel trails off, unsure how to convey what his alien emotions are doing. More even… he's never been one to voice dependence before. It makes him uncomfortable in his own skin.

Jody folds up the last of the laundry, facing him with her hands on her hips and a twinkle of mirth in her eye. "Don't leave me in suspense, Cassy."

_Cassy_. She calls him that sometimes. It had started out as just her trying to needle him in that frivolous way of hers. Now, it's a reminder of established camaraderie. Of an unlikely friendship.

"I was lonely," he admits sheepishly.

Her features instantly soften, eyes regarding him tenderly. Without needing to ask, she understands. Jody sets down her pile of clothes and says, "How about we see what's showing at the theater in town, huh?"

That smile again. His stomach does a peculiar sort of flip. Odd. He feels otherwise fine.

Castiel nods, a sense of relief filling him. "That sounds… acceptable."

She swats his arm upon passing and jingles the keys she's retrieved. "Are we driving or flying?"

There's been something building, an energy between them, that he can't quite place the import of.

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><p>As they stand in the theater lobby, waiting their turn, Jody weighs their options. Her eyes pass over <em>The<em> _Cabin in the Woods_ and _American Reunion_ right away. _Titanic 3D_ makes her shudder, though it's interesting to note Castiel's pinched expression when he notices the title. She briefly considers _The Hunger Games_—the idea of injecting a little culture into the angel's life is tempting—and she thinks he might enjoy _Wrath of the Titans_. But really, there's so much violence in all their lives right now, especially his, that a break from reality is beyond promising.

It's then she learns that _Up_ is replaying on the last screen in twenty minutes. Jody looks to her companion, hovering beside her; he's stepped back, allowing her full authority. He's taking in his surroundings with quiet curiosity, content to let her handle the situation. Jody turns to the clerk as they step up to the counter, a smile forming on her face. "Two tickets for _Up_."

* * *

><p>The angel is fascinated by the ingenuity of <em>animation<em>, and he regards the screen with a certain measure of wonderment.

"Paradise Falls reminds me of the Grand Canyon," Jody remarks in the virtually empty darkness of the theater.

"I've never been," Castiel admits, accepting the popcorn with a frown of intrigue.

"What?" She looks at him, shocked. She'd have thought he, of all people, would have. The angel could travel anywhere with a mere thought. But she supposes even that's become difficult for him. He has to pick and choose where he pops up nowadays. Jody angles back to the screen, nostalgic for a place that has existed only in her dreams. "I'd love to go there. It's on my list, if life ever gets back to normal."

Castiel nods, finding he enjoys the taste of the greasy popcorn more than he ought to. He'd rather not have a repeat of the burger fiasco. "It seems unlikely though that a house tied to a swarm of balloons would be able to traverse the globe."

Jody chuckles, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Movies are all about suspending your disbelief. It's where we normal ol' boring folk go to escape."

"You're not boring, Jody."

She's amused, keeping up her air of cheerful self-recrimination. "You're sweet, hon. But your standards are seriously low."

"Perhaps," he shrugs, the movement foreign to him but strangely natural-feeling. Jody's not sure if he's responding to the idea of standards, or the suspension of disbelief factor. It doesn't really matter, though, because, for the next two hours, the world in peril and other such issues are nonexistent. "I enjoy the character of Mr. Fredricksen," the angel says, smiling a little when the old man on the screen grumbles at the plump scout about tigers and snipes. "He… reminds me of Bobby."

Jody's smile is a little watery, voice softening as she watches the screen. "Yeah, he does."

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><p>"<em>My name is Dug. I have just met you, and I love you."<em>

Into the movie, when Castiel starts to relax and get into the plot, Jody hears him laugh for the first time. It's soft and brief at first, usually in conjunction with Kevin the bird or Dug the dog engaging in silly banter and hijinks. But by the time the movie is halfway through, it's evolved into full on snickers and the occasional belly laugh. Jody can't get enough of it, and laughs along with him. It might be the most amazing sound she's heard. _Fun fact, world. Angels of the Lord love Pixar movies._

"_This is crazy. I finally meet my childhood hero and he's trying to kill us. What a joke."_

"_Hey, I know a joke! A squirrel walks up to a tree and says, 'I forgot to store acorns for the winter and now I am dead.' Ha! It is funny because the squirrel gets dead." _

On the screen, Russell smacks against the glass window of the blimp, dragging slowly across with a terribly funny sound. Another round of laughter bubbles up between them, and Jody grabs at the angel's sleeve in her delight.

"You have the most amazing laugh," she chortles, nudging against him happily while she gets her own outburst under control. His sense of humor is the best kind of absurd. He'd been taking the movie so seriously, and it's a real treat to watch him loosen up.

But at her comment, his laughter fades into a bemused and hesitant smile.

He wonders how that could have happened. It's Jimmy Novak's laugh, isn't it? He doesn't quite know anymore. This body has somehow, along the road, become his. When he looks at his reflection, he no longer sees Jimmy's eyes staring back at him, but his own. Castiel isn't sure if he should feel badly about that. He does miss Jimmy's company in his thoughts and feels responsible for his fate, along with the guilt because of it, but then… he knows too that Jimmy is happy and at peace now.

It takes Castiel a moment to realize that Jody hasn't let go of his hand. It's a bizarre thing, and stranger still, it makes him feel as if he'd stuck his arm along an electrical current. Nothing that could cause any real harm of course, and yet…

"You're still holding my hand," he blurts out in a magnificent display of eloquence. _Smooth_, a voice sounding suspiciously like Dean's berates in his head.

"Oh, sorry," Jody replies, having clearly not realized she was. It's gone from his a second later and her attention is back to the screen. She knows he's not accustomed to being touched and takes his remark to be one of discomfort.

Castiel is disappointed the second she lets go, like he's suddenly lost contact with the world, and he wants to tell her that it wasn't a complaint. He just doesn't know what it means. But she's being swept back into the heartwarming story playing out in front of them and he's left with more doubts than answers. It would be rude to interrupt her enjoyment, wouldn't it? Social protocol dictates that the film viewing experience should carry on with relatively no disturbances, from what he's learned. This custom is viewed as sacred and he would be remiss to ignore societal niceties. (something about his motor mouth – jody is patient, explaining everything to him, whereas, in the past, his questions were met mostly by annoyance and irritation)

But then… this is Jody Mills.

It takes him another twenty minutes (almost to the credits) before he musters the courage to curl his fingers back over hers, and it feels like he's just swallowed a bowling ball covered in restless mayflies. He's besieged the fires of Hell, lead armies in wars of _literally_ biblical proportions, yet this might be the most daunting thing he's ever done. It feels awkward and a little inelegant, and what if he's made a mistake?

But she's smiling at him, perhaps a little surprised, if unspokenly aware, and Castiel knows he's following the right script. They've each taken turns saving the world. Yet somehow, in the comforting darkness of the theater, that doesn't seem so important.

"_That might sound boring, but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most."_

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Fun fact? _Up_ is even funnier in Enochian. Also? Every time you don't review, Dug must wear the cone of shame.


	10. J is for Jophiel

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay, guys. New job and trying to acclimate and transfer computer stuffs.

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><p><strong>J is for Jophiel<strong>

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><p>They have a lead on the weapons of Heaven. Previously hidden away so as to not be stolen and misused again, there is word of a malicious recovery. That's when it happens, an incident that gives them all serious pause and sets nerves on edge all around. In the middle of hashing out a strategy, yet another bombshell is loosed. Unassuming at face value, but the true consequence is enough to shatter any wall of recovery that's been forged.<p>

"We should summon Balthazar," Castiel puts in, with a certain nod.

The rest of the group shares a collective look amongst each other, frowning. A heavy tension settles over the air, and no one dares speak. The angel is perceptive to this, despite that he can't figure out what it means. He waits in silence, thoughts aimed to decipher what has everyone so suddenly silent and still.

"Cas?" That's Dean, looking worried and pouring regret.

Castiel doesn't understand, so he turns to Jody. The weight of the sympathy in her eyes hits him like an angel sword to the chest. She looks so sad, and he knows how awful it must be. But it isn't her place to say.

"You don't remember how he died?" Sam asks quietly.

_Died_. Castiel looks instantly stricken, until a weary dismay fills his eyes. Bowing his head, he emits a leaden sigh. "I didn't even remember he was gone." It's clear he doesn't quite understand, like there's a vital piece missing from the broken puzzle of his mind, and it's only a matter of time before he connects the dots. The others are concerned; is this a byproduct of his memory failure, or the continual depletion of his Grace?

Sam isn't so sure it's either. "Cas… what do you remember before taking on those souls?"

Castiel flinches at the reminder, guilt and regret surging up from where they have assumed dormancy. Surprise nonetheless seems to register behind his eyes at the question, subtle but evident. "Not… not much at all. Everything feels like a maze still."

With his admission, more answers fall into place. Though, instead of closure, it succeeds only in raising more questions.

Later, Sam is the one with the hypothesis that Crowley had been feeding Castiel corrupted souls, lending proof to the evidence they already had that the angel wasn't in his right mind during the quest for Purgatory. "What if _souls_ are to angels as demon blood was to _me_?" the younger Winchester wonders gravely when it's just he and his brother and Jody.

* * *

><p>Much later, an all-too-eager to help Dean and the hunter big enough to tolerate large amounts of alcohol with little repercussions have treated their bereaved comrade to the medicinal elixir of universal forgetfulness. In simpler terms, they're getting themselves shitfaced in her living room. Castiel is rambling on nonsensically about whatever monstrosity is happening on the news, and Jody thinks the worst when she hears the words "gorgons" and "possible nest" tumble from his lips. But when she sees the Kardashians chattering away dramatically on her television screen, she rolls her eyes. Dean and Sam are agreeing in drunken enthusiasm with whatever intoxicated theories the angel is spewing and Jody wants to sidesmack them all.<p>

"Did you get him drunk?" she demands upon her stormy entry, in that mothering tone that makes Dean instinctively quail. Sam merely ducks his head in absolute shame, like he's committed some terrible crime.

"He got himself drunk," the older Winchester protests with offended innocence. Jody offers up a dark scowl.

"Morons," she mutters. With resolve, she marches across the room and does her best to scoop the angel up off her couch. "Come on, stud."

He continues to lecture the superlative need to do away with the evil creatures witnessed on the screen as she leads him into the hall, the fading '_night Cas'_ from the boys left in their wake. She plops him onto the bed in one of the guestrooms, though it takes a minute for them to get there. He's as heavy as he is intoxicated.

Jody makes sure he gets settled in, snickering helplessly to herself at his insistence to slay the Kardashian beasts. Things take a bit of a turn, though, and his mood shifts like the switch of a light. "Balthazar was my brother."

Jody looks at him, sighing softly and holding his gaze. "I know." They share a moment of silence together, Falling angel and human woman. It's a strange but poignant picture.

"Jody. He was my brother." Castiel shakes his head, needing her to understand but not knowing how to convey what this means to him. "More than the others ever were. He looked after me when I was young, fought beside me during the Fall, through every war. He was ridiculous and too selfish and he told jokes I never understood. But he was always at my side."

He feels the brush of her skin on his, her touch a reminder that the walls of this room are not in fact closing around him. Her sympathy and support are a tangible thing that he desperately needs. "It sounds like he was a good friend. I'm sorry he's gone."

"Jody," Castiel repeats, not knowing if any other word could form on his broken tongue. Even in its addled state, his mind cannot ignore the darkness of what must be the truth. His voice wavers. "I think I killed him."

Jody feels something sharp dig into her chest and prays that he'll forget this conversation by tomorrow. Emotion catches momentarily in her throat and she quickly swallows it back down, squeezing his hand. "Get some rest, okay? You'll feel better in the morning once you've burned off this hangover."

Her shaky smile has him calming down already. He isn't sure what it is about her, what it was from the very beginning, that drew him to her._ Loosen up, angelface_, she's always telling him. He never feels so shackled when around Jody Mills. She has smiles reserved just for him and is never too busy to offer help. Where others have become frustrated with his perpetual misunderstanding of humanity, she is patient. Castiel sinks into the mattress beneath his back, staring at her. The moonlight streaming through the window makes her skin glow like marble and Castiel can't breathe for a moment. He sees beauty so rarely these days that he hardly knows how to function in its presence anymore. His mind quickly provides him with memories of a warm body against his in the darkened movie theater, hand in his like a touchstone, soft and real, banishing away the guilt if only for a moment and prompting the revelation that eventually must happen.

Castiel equates her name to many things. J for Jody, for _jealousy_, because he envies her light, her obvious grace even though she's never had wings. J for _jewel_, a precious stone, something valued highly. For _junction_, a joining point. And that is where they are now.

"You have a light, you know," he voices, eyes drifting shut. His confession is little more than a mumble, but Jody hears it clear as day. "You shine brighter than even Jophiel ever has."

"Thanks, sweetie," she replies, eyes smiling while she tucks the blanket around him. There is laughter weaved into her voice. It lifts him up to bring such an expression to her face, but he thinks that maybe she doesn't believe him.

"I wouldn't lie about this," he avers, then thinks a moment as realization dawns. "You don't know who that is."

Jody chuckles, shaking her head. Castiel feels the weight of her presence beside him on the bed, a source of warmth. "Can't say that I do."

"Oh." He frowns at his oversight. "Jophiel is the angel of beauty."

"Boy, you're all charm tonight, huh? Now I know you've had too much to drink." Jody's heart melts instantly at the sappy comparison and she smiles helplessly wide. "You're such a sweet talker, featherbottom."

That little pout of a frown. "There are no feathers on my bottom."

Jody laughs, her palm lifting to cup his cheek. Her thumb caresses the stubbly surface of his jaw. "Don't ever change, alright?"

Castiel's gaze seems to liquefy, two blue pools in the darkness. He doesn't know it, but Jody sees his own luminance shining through that no amount of Fallen Grace can diminish. He'll never deny her anything, he decides. "Alright."

His borrowed heart jackhammers in his chest when she leans over him to press a kiss against his forehead. "Go to sleep, Thursday," she whispers.

She's taken to calling him that. It being his day and all. The day he was angel over. It isn't much of a responsibility, being the angel of Thursday. But when she calls him by his day, at times like these, he's glad for it. He is glad.

Because Jody Mills was born on a Thursday afternoon. And he's reasonably sure that means something.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews make me very happy.


	11. K is for Kiss

**Author's Note:** Clap your hands guys! Both in joy for a new update and as a means to prevent another mini-hiatus like this one! To heck with full-time jobs. They just get in the way. Pfft.  
>In all seriousness, thank you guys so much for the reviews. I love reading them! Keep 'em up! :D<p>

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><p><strong>K IS FOR KISS<strong>

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><p>It had started out as a joke. A means to proving a point. She'd cupped his face and planted an electric jolt of a kiss right on his lips before pulling away, just enough to look him in the eye. "See? The world isn't going to end just because something nice happens to you, sourpuss."<p>

Castiel had blinked, swept away in the fleeting sensation and still reeling from its after effects. It isn't often the angel was taken by surprise. He'd been in a mood—as they all were. Dick Roman and the impossible act of defeating him aside, everyday monsters were becoming more difficult and the entire situation served as a constant reminder of his errors. And Jody was nothing if not impatient.

It leads to a question she can't help but ask. "You've never kissed anyone before, have you?"

"I have," Castiel assures her, averting his eyes for a moment. "It was… very spontaneous." More so than this one had been.

Jody is clearly amused, mostly at his expense, and chuckles fondly. "Was it any good?"

"Yes," he replies, thinking then for a moment. He's never really had anything to compare it to, but he thinks that maybe there should've been _more_. "And no."

"Hmm."

A question, and, finally, the revelation. Because she's still in his personal space and he's still in hers and neither really know who's invading whose. Jody moves to release him, but the sudden pair of hands on her waist prevents her from pulling away. He stares at her, numb. Directionless. Stumped. Their dangerous proximity is making him lightheaded and this is too new to him. Everything transpiring in this moment is a foreign experience that serves only to make him fidget with uncertainty.

She feels the sudden need to hold her breath. His gaze is in constant motion, taking in every movement she makes, however slight.

"Castiel?" Jody murmurs, a thousand tones of the earth swirling in her eyes. He's already memorized the patterns.

"I'd like to kiss you again."

Her head tilts just a fraction, and he wonders if she might still be amused, but there is no humor in her eyes this time. He can't quite get a read on what he sees there. Fascination, maybe? Surprise? The pupils of her eyes dilate, and he observes every nuance of change. Fear plus the warmth and desire that always accompanies being this close to her mixes within him. She doesn't pull back, an answering awareness appearing to flash across her eyes. "Do you need permission?" she asks him softly. Her voice is low, hypnotic. Maybe even a little stunned.

His own voice barely functions. Just enough to say, "Yes."

Because he's an angel, and this is all he knows. The need for consent, for _yes_. It doesn't matter that Jody's baiting him, testing him, _encouraging_ him. It only matters that he's a fast learner and he understands what this part means, if nothing else. He remembers about freedom and choice and, to be honest, he knows he's not much of an angel anymore. Castiel catches the briefest sparkle of light in her gaze, and decides.

When he finally kisses her, it literally hurts. He's so overwhelmed with sudden _feeling _that his entire being aches and he utters an intentional whimper of longing. Jody strokes the hair back at his temple as she draws him closer. This means: _It's okay. I know_.

His breath seizes in his throat at the experience. It begins achingly slow, painfully sweet, as their lips meet tentatively. His hand, trembling, slides around to cup her neck, and then tangles in her hair as he pulls her flush against him. Insistent fingers gripping at his shirt registers in his mind as he tries to commit the shape of her mouth to memory as well. The feel of her warmth against him is like a caress from Heaven; intimate, personal. So different an encounter than the first kiss he'd had. It startles him how correct his conclusion of what he'd been missing had been.

It isn't a very long kiss or even a particularly passionate one, but it holds promise for something that is definitely unfurling between them. Even still, when Castiel draws back, he's surprised to find himself gasping for breath and warm. Very warm. At a loss for words, he stares at her, silently begging for assistance. "Was that enjoyable?" he eventually blurts in a voice a bit raspier than it had been before. The word, for him, is accurate, but not the entire summation of what he's currently feeling. Should he elaborate for her? Would she like to hear his entire thought process on what's racing through his mind at this very moment? It could take quite awhile were he to attempt to share it all with her—

Jody is laughing, her eyes bright and just as warm as he feels. "You're over-thinking it, angelface," she tells him, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. She has not drawn away. Again, she kisses him. It's soft and it's gentle, but not what he would describe as chaste. She leans into him, hands splayed now just below his shoulders. Castiel can almost still feel her there when their lips part, an impression slowly fading. Without thinking at all, he drops his forehead to hers. "But yes, that was _very_ enjoyable," he vaguely hears her through the rushing in his ears.

They stand like this, encased in one another's arms, foreheads touching, for a long time. "A bit surprising, too," Castiel admits in a murmur.

Her lips are smiling again, hands circling around to tickle at his back. "Oh, is that so?" He thinks there might be a challenge there somewhere and can't help but smile too.

"Not so surprising." His eyes sweep over hers, through hooded lashes and rekindled uncertainty. His smile fades, but doesn't vanish. "Jody, what is this?"

Her thumb brushes at his chin, then strokes along his jaw, across his cheek. Castiel knows he's better when she looks at him. "It's whatever we want it to be."

_The world isn't going to end just because something nice happens to you_, she'd told him. And, despite every bit of considerable evidence to the contrary he possesses, Castiel believes her.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> *salivates at the thought of more reviews*


	12. L is for Love

**Author's Note:** If you're at all interested, feel free to go back and read over the previous chapters. I went through and edited a lot of things. As I said, I have a full time job, so a lot of the chapters I'd just quickly whipped out, but this weekend I was able to go back through and add some extra depth and meat to them. It's nothing that you'll be lost without, so if you skip this author's note no worries. I'm still a little on the fence about this chapter, can't even figure why. I'll let you guys be the judge.

Also! My new livejournal is up and running and I would love some new friends! I just got it built so I haven't gotten a chance to invite my old friends over haha. Pretty sparse friends page at the mo, ya feel me? ;P

Just click on my author page for the link, otherwise just find me by my username, which is elocinmuse.

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><p><strong>L is for Love<strong>

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><p>The day his brothers and sisters find him is a bad day.<p>

Worse yet, when they find the Winchesters. The angels, so few left, are poisoned by revenge. A new prophet has been chosen; found, naturally, by the brothers because everything is bleeding kismet these days. Members of Castiel's old garrison zero in on the holy branding of the young human's soul. Luckily, or unluckily, the angels care more about him than the Winchesters.

He shows up at the diner to meet the brothers, in a rare good mood because everything in his life lately is awake with purpose and new beginnings. Of course, this is always the moment fate decides to remind him of his mistakes, his ostracism, like a scorching angelic blade to the chest. He is a heavenly pariah and his banishment is as certain as the sun rising in the east.

Two angels had been about to slaughter his friends for the prophet. Castiel, operating on instinct, had his concealed blade in his hand within seconds, his deteriorating Grace and the bright beacons of his siblings' destroying the small diner in the time it took a human to draw breath. Windows shatter as vessels are hurled through them, bodies broken as swords are rent through hearts. Sources of individual Grace are snuffed out like dying flames.

"Cas?" one Winchester shouts.

"Take the boy!" he commands, tearing his weapon from a sister's chest.

Once the Winchesters are clear, Castiel sheathes his blade back in his boot and then leaps forward. He works his tattered wings, pumping them as hard and fast as he can to get to Sioux Falls. To her.

Jody yelps when the angel appears suddenly in her living room, bloody and out of breath. "Cas, what's wrong?" she gasps, frightened by how bad off he looks.

"You're not safe," he tells her, already bleeding from a self-inflicted wound as he starts painting banishing sigils on her walls. Next, he tears off a piece of paper from the notepad on her fridge, sketching quickly. "Draw this symbol on every surface you can. It will keep them out, but they will have already tracked my Grace. I'll hold them off from outside." She's nodding quickly and he explains the situation as best he can in a few short words.

"Dean and Sam?"

"With the prophet, protecting him." His sword his out again and he's ordering her to stay in the house. "No matter what you hear, stay inside."

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><p>The storm comes, just as forecasters predicted, but it's somehow worse than simple weather. It feeds off his damaged mood, echoing destruction where he must deal it out. He hears the thunder, mapped in perfect synchrony with every steel blow of matched blades and ruined Grace when they come. He's exhausted, but presses on, because if he fails she will die. His brothers and sisters will find a way into the sheriff's home and all will be lost. <em>She<em> will be lost. This outcome is as unthinkable as it is unacceptable.

So, he actively looks for them, shouts their true names in the rain and wind, in a language older than Man. If he finds them all now, none can harm her later. Right now, he still has his Grace, what little there is left of it. _Now_, he can protect her.

Castiel yells his surrender to the wet, empty wilderness around the house, to the heavens above him, waiting for any violent response.

That night, he kills seven of his siblings.

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><p>It's hours later when Jody finally goes to him. He's known her long enough to realize she'd never let him be alone for long, so he isn't surprised.<p>

His brothers and sisters have just tried to kill him. His two families are at war and every time he closes his eyes there are screams and the sounds of blades clashing. He's bleeding the red of blood and the soft weeping light of Grace that no one's eyes can see but his own. He's bitter from the rain and the elements and from the reminder that his own family has cast him out with the likes of Lucifer and the other Fallen. He is no more than an abomination to them, more corrupt than even the demons can claim. He feels suddenly alone, despite being surrounded by the people he's come to rely on most. But they are, of course, states away, and he is a single solitary form against the dark of night and howling wind.

Except Jody is there.

Jody is always there, picking him up when he stumbles. It feels like she always has been, despite that the thought is unfounded and impossible.

"Cas, get inside!" she calls to him above the storm. He's startled to find how poorly he can hear her, but worried more because she has left the shelter of her protected home. He's so weak now that he doesn't even notice her approach, so weak that her tug on his shoulder actually moves him. "Please, honey, get out of the rain," Jody says, softer. "Come inside."

Castiel looks at her, torn, and sees the concern like a vivid kaleidoscope of color in her eyes, even under the dull gray darkness of the angry skies. "I haven't found them all," he protests.

If he has to kill every last angel so that she can live, he will.

But then she's telling him of the brothers' last call, how a compassionate angel named Inais is helping them look after the prophet until a more practical solution becomes available. They are all safe for the night. There needn't be any more killing.

A part of him still worries that it isn't enough, that more might come and if he doesn't stay vigilant, Jody will end up hurt. She cannot suffer because of him. He can't allow that. But she takes his hand and pulls him towards her house and Castiel can't refuse. As she guides him in, he feels the heat of her hand and realizes this means he's cold. He's cold enough so that this small, soft hand provides him more warmth than the remnants of his heavenly connections. Suddenly it's hard to do anything; hard to walk, hard to breathe, hard to speak with his raw throat, hard to do anything but slide to his knees and imagine ways to fall apart.

"God, sweetie, you're freezing."

But there's Jody, her hand and that warmth, guiding him towards shelter, and he follows her. She keeps him standing.

When they're inside, Jody releases him briefly and he _feels_ it, the absence of that heat on his skin, feels it like a wound. He's worse off tonight than he'd originally thought. What a disgrace he's become. Somehow, they end up in her bedroom and he doesn't even remember how they got there. He feels… disoriented. Not like himself. He has trouble focusing on her as she moves about the room, rooting around in closets and drawers for warm clothes. He just stares at her, thankful that she's safe, although still a little numb. What's wrong with him?

He's pulled out of his delirious haze when he feels her hands working against the buttons of his shirt, getting to work on removing his soaked clothing. "I'm gonna get you some blankets," Jody says, rubbing at his arms. "Get yourself dry first and then put these on." She indicates the small pile of clothes at the edge of her bed and he looks down at the quivering motion of his human body and sees that he's shivering.

So. That's what's wrong with him.

Hypothermia must inhibit brain function. He'll have to remember that. Teeth chattering, he feels a swell of warmth and relief when a heavy fleece throw settles over his bare shoulders. Castiel feels the heat of her body, her arms reaching up to dry his hair, brushing against him as she wraps the blanket tight around him. He just stands there, cold and shaking and useless. "Here, sit," she instructs him, and he sits on the bed. He watches, silent, as she breaks out a first aid kit, and he remembers then that he's worse off than having just the chills.

His wrists are bleeding still from the work of the sigils he'd drawn, and there's a small gash on his temple and a lesion traversing his chest from a blade. The antiseptic doesn't sting much, but there's a pang in his chest all the same.

"You okay?"

Her gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he nods, replying softly. "Fine."

His head is bowed, like he doesn't quite understand what's happening to him, like he can't accept it. Jody looks at him closely, like she might not believe him, but lets it go. She wants to know if he's okay emotionally, because he's just killed a handful of his brothers and sisters. She knows he's not okay physically. Her fingers delve into his hair, smoothing back the damp locks of ebony while caressing away the ache developing there. "I'll be right back."

Again, Castiel nods, saying nothing. He doesn't tell her what it feels like when she moves away from him, that the distance between their bodies makes him feel as frozen as before. When she returns, it's with a glass of whiskey and he almost smiles. "Thank you."

He drinks it quickly, and he can feel it. Can feel the burn in his chest as it goes down and the brief fuzzy sensation in his head that makes him think just a little less, and he stares at her, grateful. Jody's hand is already on his face, a gentle touch in a torrent of tumultuous emotions swirling in his head. She's looking at him with such _warmth_ that he forgets the storm raging outside and realizes he's no longer shaking with the cold. Castiel finds himself turning his face into the contact, leaning into her of his own will.

"You saved me."

Castiel shakes his head, instantly unwilling of any credit to himself. "None got inside."

"Exactly." There's a troubled frown on her mouth that is really meant for smiling. The crease between her brows deepening, Jody shakes her head, looking at him like he's made of something more than the ash he feels inside.

The brothers will be back tomorrow. But right now all he sees is her. "I feel as though there's this empty piece inside of me," Castiel confesses to her quietly, "and I don't know what it's for or why it's there. But tonight… tonight I know I was supposed to be here with you." She's become his compass, his northern star to all things he's been in desperate search of. He looks at her and remembers what it's like to follow. To have a purpose.

"You're so much more precious than you realize, Cas," Jody tells him, conviction making her voice low. She wishes he could see what she does.

"In Heaven I was an expendable timepiece."

"Not on earth," she says, shaking her head. "Not with me."

Their eyes meet, and a thousand words are exchanged. Gazes catch fire, each unable to look away from the light shining in the other. What is it about this woman? What is it she sees in him? It's fascinating, and terrifying. Standing so close to him, Jody reaches down and slides one hand behind his neck, drawing his face to hers so they're a breath away.

"Not with me," she says again. It's more a breath than combination of words. Her arms come around him and she is so warm against his cold body that he almost doesn't notice his own arms move to embrace her, to try and fall into her warmth and leave the cold empty space of this foreign body.

Castiel can't take his eyes off the woman in front of him. He tries to acknowledge her words but his voice isn't working at the moment. He forgets sometimes that he knows how to feel, even if he is a novice at it. She's taught him how, in so many ways. She's shown him things others never have. So while he may not quite yet understand this feeling, he does understand that it needs no explanation. His time with the boys, his time with her especially, have taught him that some things are purely felt. Some things are just so magnificent that they defy any and all explanation. Honesty compels him to admit that this feeling of safety, of acceptance, while in her presence, dazzles him more than the hymns of Heaven or the smoky abysses of Hell. Something stirs in his chest, something far more reckless than the baser desires of his human vessel.

The press of her lips against his is just another reminder of how real and alive this is, how right Dean was about everything all those years ago, how far he himself has come. The spark is immediate, robbing him of all conscious thought upon contact. And then his arms are pulling her closer in spite of the rain just outside the window, or maybe because of it, holding her as close as he physically can. Everything else is gone except the feel of her body in his arms. Their lips move slowly, explore slowly, the sensation hypnotizing in so many ways. He feels weightless and so does she, lost in each other in ways neither would have guessed.

Jody feels the static that she's always felt between them, shifting and moving. Evolving. Castiel has never felt anything like it. It's overwhelming and a little daunting, but she's there, keeping him grounded even as his ruined wings fight against the inevitable pull of humanity. Her hands slip beneath the blanket, feeling across the skin of his back, warming every cold spot until none remain. He shivers all the same when her fingers caress the flesh over the blades of his shoulders and the restless angelic appendages finally settle.

Falling is not so scary when she is the one he's falling with.

Jody crawls onto the bed with him, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. He no longer needs the secondary warmth provided by the blanket and it's soon forgotten at the foot of the bed. He notices her frustrations at being tangled momentarily in it and tries to lift her clear, bumping their heads. "Sorry," he says, breaking away and looking at her sheepishly. "I'm not very good at this."

Jody's smiling at him,_ it's all right_, and with such fondness that Castiel can't respond anymore than just to kiss her again. With gentle hands, she smoothes the pain from his worn body, making his tender muscles breathe with new life. Her touch sends a beautiful ache throughout his being. The feeling of weightlessness returns and he's not quite sure how to handle it. He knows what it feels like to fly, but this is beyond his comprehension. A flicker of doubt passes through him. He could so very easily wreck everything blossoming between them. He is not a token of luck.

As if sensing his inner thoughts, Jody draws back just enough to meet his eyes. Her fingers continue to trace affectionate patterns through his hair and across his shoulders. "I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world, right now," she tells him, and it's exactly what he needs to hear.

His lips seek the junction between the column of her neck and shoulder, the pulse beneath a reminder to how real she is. Everything about her is so soft despite the tough front she's always putting up. Jody is stronger than most hunters he's ever met, but her heart is the biggest he's ever known. Her hair is silk under his fingertips, slipping through them like sand in an hourglass, and it's the exact opposite of every harsh thing he's ever felt. She says his name, quiet and sweet, and it's more heaven than anything he can remember. Porcelain skin responds to each gentle caress, fascinating him. Jody's hands explore the vessel he inhabits like it's his own, every invisible burden lifting from his shoulders. For these shining moments, he forgets completely about all he's done. All the guilt, the suffering. In this moment, he feels unquestionably forgiven. When she looks at him, it is without judgment or derision. Before she'd known who he was, after she knew what he'd done.

This is the night Castiel starts to forgive himself.

In these moments, where happy sighs become breathless gasps and broken moans. When, for the first time, the angel wears every emotion on his sleeve; awe, astonishment, and desire flittering across his face in a cacophony of sensations. As Jody whispers every sweet thing against his cheek.

It's the first time Castiel has ever felt loved. He's always known he was, in his little dysfunctional family with the Winchesters and Bobby Singer, even in the short time spent with Ellen and Jo Harvelle, but nothing compares to this. He feels the passion, the warmth, down to the very soul he was never meant to have. It isn't really how either of them had pictured this happening. But maybe that was the point.

The buildup of emotional trauma and this slowly burning ember between them compels the seeking of a far more intimate union. Because maybe they've both been lonely. Her back arcs beneath him and their fingers entwine. Pulses pound within their coupled hands, creating one fervent heartbeat. Their lips seal, not an inch of space between them, and Castiel has no idea where she ends and he begins.

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><p>Drifting in the soft heat between them, he marvels while she rests her head against his shoulder, nestling into the curve of his neck as if it had been made for her. He hears the quiet sigh of satisfaction that escapes her lips as his hand slides to the small of her back, possessively drawing her closer. He can still hear her sunny voice, leaving teasing little remarks along the column of his throat; things like <em>you're a fast learner<em>, or _at least you're not a screamer_, because a good deal of her lights have been blown out. Castiel closes his eyes and smiles. It's strange to be doing that so often lately.

He remembers her laughter, breathlessly saying, _you look like you're seeing stars._

He still is.

It's close to morning, and he's mostly healed by now, but not fast enough apparently. She notices the bruises, because Jody notices everything, and gives him a frown. "You need to start taking better care of yourself," she murmurs, pressing a kiss against the marred flesh.

"What do you mean?"

She entwines their hands just a little tighter, brushing rosy lips against his fingers. "You're healing too slowly to be so reckless."

"I heal well enough," he replies, lips upturning a little in an offer of reassurance.

Jody eyes him, with that tender regard that's reeled him in since the start. "Not enough for me."

Over the soft skin of her cheek, his thumb trails. He understands. And it's strange, because he shouldn't. But he worries for her more and more, so it isn't so hard to imagine what that feels like for another—despite that he can't fathom why she cares so much about _him_.

"No more accidents," she tells him. "No more wars with freezing rain and angry angels. No more unnecessary risks. You're strong, Cas. Stronger than most men will ever be. But you have to be more careful now." Staring into her eyes is like staring into Pandora. The soft, earthy golds and browns appeal to him, quietly imploring. "Just tell me you will. For me?"

And there's that feeling again. The knowledge that he will never deny her a thing. "Of course."

This pacifies her for now. Jody looks at him, eyes combing fondly over his face. His dark hair is disheveled in the most endearing way, his eyes are brighter than she's ever seen them. Still piercing blue, foreign emotions festering beneath. Under her scrutiny, she swears something very close to a blush rises in his cheeks and she shakes her head. He could listen to her laugh for ages. "This wasn't supposed to happen, you know."

"It wasn't?"

Jody looks so comically aggravated with herself that he almost laughs. "I was supposed to seduce you first. You know… buy you roses and candlelit dinners? Bat my eyes at you, drop you subtle signals here and there?"

"That seems…" Castiel considers this for awhile, "backwards. Although, I'm the last person to go to for societal rituals. I'm also not very adept at reading into… signals."

Jody snickers, running her fingers up his chest and smoothing them over his cheek. They ruffle his hair. "In any case, you were supposed to see all the wonders and blunders of dating before all this." She sighs. "Sorry I ruined the whole experience for you."

"You didn't," he says, suddenly serious.

And really, he needs to put that thought out of her head as soon as he can, because it's so far from the truth he'd feel like a liar otherwise. Jody looks at him, touched beyond measure and seeming like he's just put her entire world back together. The sincere intensity in his eyes wraps around her like a balm, soothing away her own fears and old wounds just as keenly as if he'd laid a healing hand on her. "You're an incredible man, Castiel."

"If I am, it's because of you," he tells her, voice brimming with honesty and gratitude. He regards her affectionately, tucking a rebellious lock of hair that's tickling his face behind her ear. "You seem certain this outcome was inevitable."

"Oh honey," Jody gives him a cheshire smile, "I wanted to jump your bones the second I laid eyes on you. This was always going to happen eventually." Castiel actually grins, a small little spark of a thing, but the sight brings fresh joy to Jody's heart. "God, I love your smile." His throaty laugh reverberates against her, and he knows she's kidding, but a part of her isn't. "I don't know. I guess I just had a feeling."

She suddenly looks so unsure of herself and he wants to kiss her again. He knows how difficult it is sometimes to put thoughts into words. "I believe I did as well."

With sleepy eyes and a promising smile, Jody gives him a final kiss before settling back against him. Maybe it's the whisper of her hair like silk against his skin, the endless relief and serenity at finally being able to hold her like this, but he never wants it to end. Castiel could stay like this forever, trapped in the spell she's cast over him. Without thinking, without doubting the reason, he bends his head, pressing his lips against the hidden place just below her ear, before whispering every thought there, wanting her to know that because of her, he can forget the damaged world, the creatures of his own making out there doing sick and twisted things. He's at peace. Because here, in the arms of this human woman, he knows he's home. How odd it is, this sense of all-encompassing relief. Like he can finally breathe again. He wants to protect her, he wants everything for her. It feels sudden and very alien, this desire, but Castiel reflects that the first stirrings of this feeling had bloomed the moment he'd laid eyes on her. The very second she'd said to him _you're safe_.

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><p>The Winchesters are back that morning. Sam is out on a grocery (<em>pie, Sam!)<em> run, and Dean is concocting something resembling a breakfast when Castiel enters the room, forgoing the typical angelic entrance. "Hey man," Dean greets him, eyeing Jody's nonfat milk critically.

A fresh carton of their usual brand suddenly appears before his eyes as the angel sets it on the counter, offering up a welcoming smile. "Dean."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Thanks." He gives his friend a onceover. "You don't look half bad for a guy who just laid an almighty smitedown on a bunch of dick family members."

"I'll assume that remark is rhetorical," Castiel replies. "How is the prophet?"

This is where the conversation goes for most of the morning. They discuss the new contact and charge they have, what their next move must be, and all mandatory leviathan matters. But the thing that Dean keeps noticing has nothing at all to do with monsters or prophets or the right and wrong brand of milk.

Castiel is smiling.

Not in a weird, unsettling way, or even that patented smirk of confusion. Not even in the way that's glaringly self-conscious. Just… smiling. Dean's reasonably sure the angel doesn't even realize he's doing it. "Dude."

"Yes?"

"How was your night, besides the family reunion? Anything exciting?"

Castiel shrugs, such a _human_ gesture that Dean almost laughs. "Nothing of import."

It's a boldfaced lie.

Now Dean is grinning like an idiot. _Good for the little cherub_. He could ask where the sheriff is, but Cas is so close to giving it all away that Dean'll let him have this little secret. "If you say so," the hunter all but gushes. _You sly dog._

Castiel is unsurprisingly oblivious and _damn_, has he got it bad. Dean chuckles under his breath. It's like little virgin Sammy becoming a man all over again. He's proud and it's messed up—he knows that—but seriously. Good for the little cherub.

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><p>Later on in the day, when Cas and Sam are off on angel and moose adventures—Sam couldn't find any pie at the local shops, so Cas is flying him around the neighboring areas—Dean takes Jody aside and basically asks her intentions. There's really no other word for it.<p>

She's already smiling—that knowing little twist of mouth, showing how amused she is, but also that she understands. Dean, of course, instantly bristles—especially when the sheriff busts out laughing. "What?"

"You're protective of him." At his dry look, Jody elaborates. "Dean, it isn't a bad thing. Family is more than just your bloodline." He remembers those same words coming out of Bobby's mouth and feels something akin to peace. Because yeah, the world might be going to hell, but they all still have each other. "Sure, he's probably got two thousand years on you, but he's still your little brother in spirit." Not to mention she likes feeling like she's the young one.

Jody Mills might be the best thing that's ever happened to Castiel.

She offers Dean a beer and he accepts it graciously, smirking against the lip of the bottle. "If I'd have known you had such a thing for older men I would've eighty-sixed my schoolboy crush a long time ago."

The sheriff's hearty laughter fills the entire house, and Dean, not for the first time, reflects that Cas might have a shot at real happiness after all.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Still a shameless review whore. :D


	13. M is for Menstrual

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the lovely reviews, once again. I'm so glad you all liked the last chapter. :D

Hopefully, in addition to this little gem, I'll be able to get another chapter up tomorrow night, possibly more. My weekend was virtually free and I was struck with the writing bug, so here we go!

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><p><strong>M is for Menstrual<strong>

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><p>With an audible whine, she winces against the ambush of pestering sunlight and burrows further into the blankets. A cloud of torment settles over her in a way that promises to haunt for the entire day. It's a good thing her sidearm is out of reach, she reflects blackly.<p>

"Jody?" The angel sounds confused, a flutter of wings marking his usual entrance. "Are you in pain?"

"No, I'm in _agony_," Jody moans, wrecked. "Normally it isn't this _awful_. Did you do this to me?" There's an undertone of accusation in her voice that he can't make sense of.

"I don't believe so," Castiel says, too diplomatic and _offensively_ calm for the situation, in her vexed opinion. The downed sheriff curled up on the couch lets out a nasty growl when he approaches. Castiel settles beside her, unheeded, but with visible caution. "Is this something I won't understand because I'm an angel or because I am male?"

Jody utters another destitute growl, burying her face in the pillow miserably.

"I see," Castiel remarks, his question not really having been answered.

"I feel a pain in my lower intestines…" she finally enlightens, with certain melodramatic flair. "I think something important was destroyed."

Castiel smiles, eyes crinkling at their corners, once he finally comprehends her suffering. This pain will pass, given time, he knows. "You're fine."

It's more a note of relief than belittlement of her troubles, but through the raging haze of PMS Jody replies, "Angel, don't even talk to me. Your pure and gentle brain cannot fathom the utter hell being wrought upon me right now." With each crippling spasm, her eloquence gains velocity, sharpening her tongue. If he were smart, he'd feel more wary of her than any monster of the week. The similarities are striking, regardless.

His hand strokes down her back, in gentle circles. "Sounds terrible."

"It is," Jody mutters. But her quivering stills when she feels the warmth of his other hand through the thin fabric of her shirt, over her stomach, caressing softly. The warmth spreads, and she sucks in a shocked breath. Her pain has eased, to a dull twinge barely enough to make a mouse flinch. She stares up at him in breathless wonder, shaking her head. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Heaven, mostly," is his response.

Her busting laughter makes him smile wider and she yanks him down into a kiss. "Can I get you anything?" he asks when they break apart, because he knows his efforts have only taken the edge off and she'll need to wait out the uncomfortable phase of her menstrual cycle still.

"Chocolate," Jody whimpers. "Lots of chocolate."

His thumb caresses the crown of her hair, smoothing away residual frown lines. "From anywhere specific?"

"Local's fine, featherpants. I don't want you straining yourself."

He kisses her forehead. "I'll return soon," he says with a promise.

Jody wiggles her fingers after him, brushing at his coattails and tugging. "I'm a lucky gal."

Castiel smiles his little smile at her as he leaves the room. He won't tell her when he returns that the truffles are from a little vendor outside of Venice. After all, it's him who's the lucky one.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Every time you review, it's one less cramp for Jody. ;)


	14. N is for Name

**Author's Note:** This week is looking like it'll be ripe for updates! I make no promises, but it's definitely looking good. :D

Once more, thank you everyone for the reviews. They mean a lot as a writer and I'm a critique slut anyways haha. So keep 'em coming, please and thankies!

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><p><strong>N is for Name<strong>

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><p>Castiel is surprised at how much he's dimmed, how tarnished his wings have become. How far he seems to have fallen. Sometimes he'll stand in front of a mirror and stare intently at the fazing shadows; hesitant to appear even at full strength. It's becoming more and more difficult to summon their manifestation, whereas before, if he so desired, they'd be brought to bear with a mere whim of effort. His brow creases in concentration now, determined to see how long he can keep them visible.<p>

It's never as long as he likes.

The shadows stutter, and wink out of existence. Castiel leans over the sink, head bowed between his shoulders.

Jody can't see his wings, although he knows she'd like to. Sometimes, he'll work some magic and she'll catch that fleeting shimmer of their outlines, work her fingers through downy layers of intangible silhouettes. He's often bemused by how much this pleases her, but allows it because it makes her happy. And the touch… that connection of another soul touching something only he's known in the spans of two millennia… it's special. It makes him feel less isolated and not so alone.

It first had started when she'd called him _chicken wings_, for no other reason than to show affection in her bantering way that he's come to enjoy so much. He'd replied, of course, that his wings in no way resembled that of a chicken's, and she'd told him to prove it. Always an enigma wrapped in a challenge, Jody Mills.

The nicknames had confused him at first. Now, he wants to smile at the familiarity of them. He likes them all. Likes how they roll off her tongue and into his thoughts with genuine warmth and affection when she speaks them.

He can hardly believe it, looking back. Remembering, in what seems like a lifetime ago, his brief encounter with one unassuming little human. When Bobby called on him after the dead had risen in Sioux Falls, asking that he look after the local sheriff. Castiel, not one to ask questions, had stood vigil over the woman's house as she'd grieved the loss of her son and her husband, invisible to human eyes, until dawn split the horizon. Never would he have imagined how he would be looking at her now. What she would be making him feel. That she would be the one to show him; to show him everything.

The Winchesters and Bobby Singer are (and were) his family. But he doesn't even know what to call this yet. He has his suspicions, but he's remarkably terrified. He's laid siege to Hell with nothing but his own sword and few brethren at his back, infiltrated Lucifer's Cage itself, _alone_, to salvage one single man. And yet this little slip of a thing, this unassuming human woman, sets him on edge like no one and no thing can or ever has. It's a little embarrassing, to be honest.

He's fairly certain she enjoys it, too.

Castiel kisses her name into the graceful curve of her neck and makes the word last forever, whispered like a prayer. Jody stirs in her sleep, sighing, her fingers curling reflexively around his just a little tighter. He says her name like it's the most important word in his vocabulary (and he has many languages), heavy with mystery and ripe with conviction. With her name, Castiel makes it sound like he has no choice but to love her, as if he were meant to, created by God just to find her and make himself whole.

The angel feels heavy with his own; so many emotions in one ridiculous, useless name. A name that has brought only trouble to everyone and everything. There are days he wishes he'd been called by anything else. Or perhaps that he'd never come to be at all.

"Cas?" her sleepy voice mumbles into the relative obscurity of the room, illuminated only by the soft glow of morning. It interjects his conflicted thoughts, shedding light to dark corners.

"Go back to sleep," he replies, low, smoothing a hand down her back. His fingers hover for a moment, still uncertain, still untrusting of the fact that he's allowed to touch her. That his flesh won't ignite upon contact; even though, in a way, it always does.

"Mmm… stay with me? You're a comfy pillow." Not giving him time to reconsider, she's already wrapped around him snugly, cheek molded against his chest.

He hesitates, sensations flooding his thoughts. "I should return to—" he begins, thinking it best to distance himself from the heavy emotions that are literally assaulting him from every angle. He still has trouble processing their weight, the sheer foreign nature of what he hadn't been designed to feel. Each new novel experience, all the continual swan dives into humanity, leave him a little more uneasy every time. That, and there are dangers beyond these walls. Dangers he can battle and defend against. She is so small compared to the world outside, and the horrors it contains. She'd raised him from a perdition that was, in ways, so much more crippling than the Hell many were familiar with. This had been of his own personal creation, his own condemnation, and he'll do everything he can to repay her. He _needs_ to repay her.

But Jody's not letting go anytime soon. "Park it, mister."

Castiel relents, as he always will. Because when she says his name? Every syllable sounds like redemption. He stares at the ceiling in the mutual silence that comes, tracing the patterns there with tireless eyes and reveling in the feel of her body against his. "Sleep well, Jody."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I feel like I'm getting into a much better flow with things than I had been early on in this. Less stressed out with work and life, more time to sit back and do what I love; writing, of course. Always will be my first love. So thanks again guys for following this little experiment! We're working down into the second half of things now... FYI, there will be 28 chapters, not 26. The last two are surprises.


	15. O is for Oasis

**Author's Note:** Everything is coming together so nicely... *Mr. Burns fingers*

Thanks, all! For the reviews and the subscriptions! :D

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><p><strong>O is for Oasis<strong>

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><p>Dean and Sam are sharing beers on the sheriff's porch, another successful hunt under their belts. They clink bottles in time with their laughter and snarky retorts, the world around them vibrant with color. In the distance, the pond's usual inhabitants sail in on an obliging draft and muted splashes are heard, chorused by the calls of the arriving ducks. In the yard, Castiel is learning the intricate and menial task of raking leaves. His little drill sergeant directs him around the property with helpful critiques.<p>

"You think we should help?" Sam wonders aloud, though he doesn't actually make any effort to get up.

Dean takes another swig, shaking his head vigorously. "I'm done with yard work, man. It gives me a rash."

Sam snorts at this, digging out two more beers when they run low. A pair of squirrels dash across a power line and make a racket when they skid down the rain gutter. Their shrill banter carries across the yard.

Beneath the oak tree, Jody's pointing assertively. "Rake those leaves, grunt," she orders, swiping at the angel with her own rake. The late evening sun lends her a halo and brings every little thing about her to life. She's a glowing silhouette, moving nimbly through the grass like the puckish nymph she so often is.

"The wind keeps displacing them," Castiel complains, with his usual diplomacy. To punctuate his remark, another meager pile of leaves rustles loose under a stubborn gust, scattering upon freedom.

Her head shakes in a parody of annoyance, a look meant to intimidate that just ends with laughing. "Bitch, bitch, bitch," Jody mutters, trudging over to him. She's showing him the proper way moments later, their audience catching the occasional touch of encouragement, the fleeting looks, the warm gazes, the smiles. Brush of skin here, a touch of a hand there.

Sam's face screws up in a somewhat comical representation of shock. He stares, until it finally settles in and he's left gaping. "Cas and Jody?" he blurts out.

"I know, right?" Dean chuckles, watching the pair fondly. It isn't long before their combined efforts yield a healthy pile. So disarmed are they in the other's company that neither thinks twice about the fact that they have an audience. The sheriff is such a civilizing influence on the angel that even Castiel's defenses are down; his mask of indifference a thing of the past. Though, not without effort. "He thinks they're being subtle. Clueless bastard."

"How did that even happen?" Sam can't help but ask, dumbfounded still, but now with a note of pleasant surprise.

"I have no freaking idea."

"_Dude_," is Sam's eloquent summation of the events.

"Yeah." An unexpected peak of sentimentality grips the older hunter and Dean laughs. "He adores her, man. It's… crazy. You can't even believe it."

"I really can't," states Sam helplessly, still unable to calibrate what he's seeing before his own two eyes. "But that's… that's _awesome_."

"It sorta is." Dean smiles, his fondness for the nerdy angel, who will always be his best friend, showing through. The sky is overcast, but the weather is nicer than it's been in months. The breeze livens the wind chimes on the porch, the steady ring bathing the yard in lawless tones. Dean thinks he likes the sheriff's new house better than the old one he remembers from when they first met. It's cozier, more secluded, and it reminds him a little of Bobby's. Here, the outside world is a feeble memory. Troubles are forgotten here at the humble little Dakota farmhouse. The foliage itself forms an almost protective barrier around the property, banishing all dark forces better than any sigil.

They watch as rakes are cast aside when work is finally finished, as Jody leaps onto the angel's back and demands to be hauled the rest of the way up the hill. He's startled at first by the unceremonious assault of weight, but the sound of her laughter brings an instant smile to his face. Castiel begins his trek up the path, securing his arms beneath her legs. Jody rests her chin on his shoulder, her eyes shut, and they're speaking. Their voices are low and hushed, indicating a more intimate setting, and the angel is taking his time returning her.

Dean can't hear what they're saying, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't want to know. He just likes watching them.

In a way, it offers him a glimpse into the life he'd once had with Lisa, and those memories will always be a comfort. But, more than that, seeing Cas happy is like seeing a land mired fish finally adapting to the terrain around it. There's a sense of proud satisfaction, and, more importantly, familial affection at the scene. Behind the brothers, Frank lumbers out of the house, demanding his share of the alcohol reserves. Dean takes this all in, fingers playing idly at the flask in his pocket, feeling that intangible presence, and knowing that this is his family. All of them, together.

The sun muscles its way out from behind the stubborn patch of clouds for the first time in a long time. "Beautiful," Jody remarks of the new day, nuzzling against Castiel's flannel-covered shoulder. He's starting to look like a genuine Winchester.

"It is," the gruff voice agrees. The light smack of her lips on his cheek leaves him fighting a smile, the sun warming his face from above. More kisses, feather light, dust furtively along his neck like sharing a secret. The attention concludes with a teasing nip on his ear and Castiel is amused by her efforts to distract him. When their witnesses are gone, he'll be all hers. He doesn't even realize that, lately, he's here more than he's ever anywhere else. Too many reasons keeping him right where he is.

"Sometimes I don't ever wanna leave," Jody admits with a contented sigh, echoing his thoughts. Her arms embrace his shoulders just a little tighter, enough to let him know that everything is perfect even if the world doesn't agree.

Dean and Sam salute their approach with raised glasses, Frank with a grunt and a partially enthusiastic rumble of his own in greeting.

Castiel understands now what it means to belong.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> For every time you review, Castiel interacts with the ducks. Incentive? I think so.


	16. P is for Pain

**Author's Note:** So... if you happened to get about six other notifications about updates, that's my bad. Accidentally deleted a middle chapter, so I had to go through and delete all the chapters that came after it, then re-add them all. Just goes to show... don't sleep-deprive and derive. Rather: stop going to bed at 4 in the morning.

But when do I ever listen to myself? :)

Enjoy, guys!

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><p><strong>P is for Pain<strong>

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><p>Jody Mills had been raised by her mother's sister since she was thirteen years old. When her parents had been killed in the car crash of '87—a devastating loss that shook Sioux Falls when Mayor Mills and his wife had been pronounced dead at the scene—Cindy Abel had taken in a young, grieving Jody. Through this act of kindness, she'd bypassed the foster system, spared in turn the horrors one so often heard about. Even in her constant battle against cancer, Cindy made certain her niece received every essential need and ounce of love there was to give. Cindy helped her through college, financed a good portion of her wedding, provided support when she and Owen had lost Sean.<p>

So to hear that Cindy Abel had finally lost her battle against lymphoma over the phone that morning had been crippling. Jody was, of course, next of kin, so the Rapid City Regional hospital had called her with the news and to make proper arrangements.

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><p>She's been staring at her kitchen sink for the past thirty-four minutes and eighteen seconds. The clock ticking over the stove haunts her, unnaturally loud in the quiet, and she just might take the hammer out of the drawer nearest to her and smash the living hell out of it.<p>

Jody wipes fruitlessly at her eyes, smoothing her fingers back through her hair with a trembling sigh. She's given herself a headache and her body feels exhausted despite the decent night's sleep she'd had. She hasn't had a good cry in a long time; this phone call remedied that in too many ways. Jody pours herself a glass of water and drinks it down, leaning then against the counter and staring sightlessly at the opposite wall for the next three and a half minutes, as though the aged patterns hold great wisdom.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. _

Inhaling deeply through her nose, clearing her sinuses, Jody wipes again at her eyes and plasters on the best smile she can muster. "Hey Cassy," she manages out, head bowed and speaking softly at her feet. "Thou who art out and about, deliver thyself to my kitchen, would ya?"

There is a brief interval of silence following her prayer, disrupted soon after by the quiet rustle of wings at her side. "Hello, Jody."

She can't quite meet his eyes, but forces a fleeting smile his way. It's the best she can do. "Hey. Could you do me a favor and let the brothers Winchester know that I won't be able to do phones today?"

"Certainly."

The ensuing silence is so complete, they both can hear the coffee maker sigh. Jody bites her lip, waiting for the flutter of wings to signal his departure, but it never comes.

"Jody? Is everything all right?"

She sighs deeply and sadly, craning her neck to look at him.

Castiel sees the tears in her eyes and instantly regrets his question. Clearly, everything is not all right. Jody is upset. Her gaze is showing such a vulnerability and pain, like cracked ice, and something inside him knots. He stares at her, blue eyes rounded in concern. "What's wrong?"

Like he would give anything to make her pain go away.

Jody sniffs, giving him a watery smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm all right, honey. Just… my aunt. Cindy. She, um… she passed away this morning." It's clearly difficult for her to get these words out, if her trembling voice is of any indication; thick and laden with emotion. "She was someone very important to me, so I'm just… having a hard time right now. But I'll be okay." The last is said with a forced optimism that Castiel sees right through but has no way of knowing how to process.

The expression on his face and his voice instantly soften. "Oh," he says quietly, regarding her with gentle eyes as comprehension spreads through him. He still has no idea what to do. He seems really hesitant all of a sudden, and closer. But his desire to help shines through like a beacon, and Castiel touches his fingers hesitantly to hers. Before he knows it, the words leave his mouth. "Would you like a hug?"

It's effect is immediate. Tears fill her eyes, and Jody doesn't bother this time to hide them. She simply stares at him for what seems like years, a tiny laugh gusting from her. She thinks about it for a moment, considering. At the nervous, yet profoundly earnest look in his eyes, Jody nods quickly and accepts his uncertain embrace. He's a little tense, still doubting himself and whether he is executing this the proper way, but when she sighs against him and buries her face into his collar, Jody feels the angel relax and his arms settle comfortably around her.

For hours, he holds her like this, and eventually he transports her to the sofa in the den; neither moving except for the intermittent caress of a hand over her hair, her back, her arm.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he is, and he doesn't know what else to say. Jody is in pain, and it wrecks him. So he tells her that he's sorry, while unspoken words promise that he will always be there to catch her if she needs someone to fall into. She has helped him up so many times, the least he can do is return the favor.

"I must look like a mess," Jody mutters, her voice muffled against him. She's tired, and grateful—because she doesn't think she could have stayed standing much longer if not for him.

"I think you look beautiful," he tells her.

And it isn't cheesy, because he isn't trying to be romantic. He's simply telling her the truth because he's Castiel, and that's what he does. He communicates everything he believes; to a fault, some would say.

Jody has never thought that, because there is nothing wrong with Castiel or the things he says. But those words, they send a poignant jolt of pain through her that has her shoulders quaking instantly. _He thinks she's beautiful_; it's acknowledged like a fact. Just as certain as the earth orbits the sun. She snorts a laugh, not protesting when he pulls her to him just a little tighter. Just laughs and laughs, shaking against him as the laughter gradually dissolves into something like the sound of breaking glass.

_Tick. _

_Tock. _

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><p>He asks Dean for advice later in the day, because he can't shake the feeling that he's failed her somehow in this time of need. His friend assures him that he had preformed properly and faithfully, because sometimes the imparted presence alone is all a person needs. Words aren't always necessary. Sometimes all you needed was a touch.<p>

Dean takes this opportunity to finally speak with the angel about certain matters. "So… you and the sheriff, huh?" he prods lightly, forcing the corners of his mouth to behave and remain neutral instead of spreading into the megawatt smile they itch to reveal.

The angel actually looks bashful of the topic for a moment, but eventually concedes the point of hiding it any longer. "Yes," Castiel responds, looking suddenly guilty. Dean, for the life of him, can't understand why. "I…" the angel ducks his head, very serious now. "I know I don't deserve happiness, Dean. I know that, just as well as I most certainly don't deserve Jody. I have so much to atone for, and I'll never be worthy of—"

"Whoah, whoah, Cas—hey," Dean cuts him off, surprisingly gentle. "Dude… don't even think that, alright? If the world went around thinking like that, no one would ever get laid," he tries to joke, but it falls flat, and Castiel still looks miserable. He tries again. "Come on, man. You can't really believe that you're like our… our _convict_ or something. That you have to serve out some kind of sentence because of the past."

"Dean. The wrongs I committed, the death toll alone—"

"It wasn't you," Dean quickly butts in, effectively cutting that thought short. "It was the Leviathans inside of you. You were possessed. The second you took in those souls, you weren't _you_."

"I'm still responsible."

That practical, ever-rational approach.

"Hey." Dean meets his friend's eyes from across the table. "Everyone gets forgiveness. And Jody… she knows what happened, and she isn't going anywhere. Don't you get it? You are not _expendable_, no matter what your dick siblings tried to tell you, no matter how we might have treated you. And above all, you're no monster." Surprised by his friend's forceful response, Castiel loses most of his onerous resolve. He looks at the hunter with that puzzled head tilt, an unreadable expression in his eyes, and Dean continues just as adamantly. "You're not indebted to us—if anything, it's the other way around. _Family don't end in blood_; do you know who said that? The closest thing to a real father you and I ever had. You're one of us, Cas. I don't give a crap about bad water under the bridge. You're my brother because I say so. Got it?"

Castiel blinks, the bewilderment wiping to startled comprehension. He looks… stunned by the words _family_ and _brother_ and _forgiveness_ and the sheer conviction behind them. The angel takes a moment, then his expression clears and his chin comes up. "I… got it."

Dean stares hard at him, nodding after awhile, seemingly satisfied with the tête-à-tête. "Good." He slides a cardboard box across the length of table. "Now have some pie."

Castiel complies silently, thoughts swimming.

He'd had nothing left; has no one still except for the Winchesters and Jody Mills. But they are all he needs. He hasn't realized just how long he's been trapped in his own purgatory until this moment. It's a long road, but he's getting there. Every crack in the asphalt is another puzzle piece to redemption.

The pie is good.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Every slice of critique is a slice of pie for Dean. :)

Seriously - pie is to Deano as reviews are to moi.


	17. Q is for Quiet

**Author's Note:** So sorry for the delay guys! I'm back from my trip, so updates should come much faster! I won't bother you with anymore writerly nonsense! Onward!

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><p><strong>Q is for Quiet<strong>

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><p>He's almost across the world, on a relic-run for the Winchesters, when he hears her frantic call. Forgetting all about pacing himself and transporting in intervals, he spreads his wings and hurls himself across oceans and deserts and stormy skies to get to the Dakotas. People will talk about the disappearing man, theories and denials will be made, but that is the furthest thing from his mind.<p>

The changeling nearly kills her.

Too close, she came. _Too close._

He doesn't want to think about that—_can't_ think about that—so he buries it beneath layers and dark veils like everything else he isn't ready to face. Upon arrival, Castiel goes straight for the mother, unable to reach Jody through the maze of evil bodies. A split second longer would have cost her. Every nerve electrified in his body, heart in his throat when he sees Jody pinned down by one of the hatchlings, Castiel sets the mother ablaze with not a moment to spare. He summons every morsel of Grace in his depleted reservoirs and burns the life out of her with equal amounts of satisfaction and desperation. Above the pinned sheriff, the offspring screeches and dissolves into a cascade of fiery embers. All around them, more suffer the same transition until there are none left.

Never again would she go hunting without the boys, he vows silently to himself—until he can drill it into her. _Never again_, he thinks—or he would, if he could think anything right now. A hole feels like it's been punched through his chest. Jody's hurt. She's brushing herself off and cursing up a storm, but she's hurt.

She equates them to mini leviathans. "Damn skeevy little bastards—" Jody starts to say, but stops short when she sees the look on the angel's face. The banked anguish. His eyes warn her that he might actually _cry_ at any second. Before she can form a response, Castiel seizes her against his chest, pulling her in tight; like he might die if he goes another second without touching her. He doesn't say anything, just holds her and doesn't move. He's too afraid to do anything else. "Oh, honey," whispers Jody on a breath of regret. Her voice is heavy with sympathy and everything hurts almost too much to move. She's bleeding and there are dead bodies all around them, but this is more important. "It's okay. I'm right here."

She swears he might be shivering, and nearly misses the whisper that breaks out of him, but catches it before it can fade into the cold air around them.

_Don't leave. _

The Winchesters die, but they always come back. He's never had to worry about them, not really. Not like her. To the universe, she is an insignificant and ephemeral wavelength of humanity; here and gone too soon to really be labeled a remarkable existence. But she is important to him. She's _important_ to _him_. If no one else can see that, they are blind and he will make them see. But right now, _they_ don't matter, because he wants her to be okay. He _needs_ her to stay alive. If she were to die, Castiel is weighted with the sudden sensation of having no feasible idea what he'd do. Losing Jody, more than anything, is something he just can't have.

He doesn't fully understand this raw desperation that so suddenly consumes him. He only knows that he has to hold her; press her body into his, close and tight so that she won't disappear. If he just doesn't let go, he won't lose her. He needs her to be closer, so close that she's a part of him. Soon her skin will be crushed into his and maybe he can just duck away inside her. So long as he has a hold of her, everything will be fine.

What is he _doing_?

He can't ever remember feeling this scared and it's _terrifying_. It feels like a coil of snakes have knotted themselves up in the pit of his stomach and his hands won't steady on their own so he grips trembling fingers into her jacket and her hair.

_Oh honey_, she'd whispered; understanding immediately, because she's _Jody_. She knows how to alleviate every pain he's ever had, whether she realizes it or not. "Don't leave me," he says again, around a tremulous sigh. "Don't leave me."

Castiel feels her lips pressing into his neck, mouth leaving low, soothing words against his flesh. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. I'm here."

She needs medical attention for her wounds, but if he could just have a minute longer… he's not ready to let go of her yet. Jody doesn't complain. She just holds him in return, rubbing slow circles over his back until he can learn how to breathe again. He tries to formulate an apology for his behavior, but she rejects any attempt before it can work its way out.

He suddenly knows the world would be too quiet without her. For the first time, he sees that, without her, he will never survive. He won't make it. The knowledge is so encrusted in truth that there's no sense in denying it, no sense harboring any false hope. It's Jody or nothing. Not after everything he's done, the lives he's destroyed. He's learning to forgive himself, but Jody is the one who made that possible. Without her, there's no point. She is the glue that's holding him together. On his own, he's simply a broken marble statue.

When the pain leaves her suddenly, warmth flooding through every pore, Jody is first confused, then relieved because it doesn't hurt anymore. Her concern flares up almost immediately though when it becomes evident she's been healed and the aftermath of his exertion is revealed. Castiel utters a quiet, fissured moan and Jody feels the shudder run through him. His muscles tense, body cringing against an invisible pain.

"Cassy?"

He grimaces, shouldering the burden, but she has to help support him. It's so sudden it startles them both, and she's pulling back to meet his avoidant gaze.

"Hey. Hey." Her hands are cupping his face, drawing him down to her so she can look at him. The concern in her eyes is vibrant, making everything about her almost too bright to look at. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth, another sharp stab of pain burrowing in. "What's wrong? Cas, answer me."

"Loud," he manages out.

A small trickle of blood breaks from his nose and Jody's slipping into panic mode. "Alright, we need to get you home."

"Give… give me a moment, I'll get us there—"

"No. You've already overdone it. We're taking my car." Her tone brooks no argument, and she's already steering him in the direction of her vehicle. "Come on, handsome. You're too heavy to haul around like a sack of potatoes, you gotta help me out. It's just a little ways."

Castiel can hear the poorly cached anxiety beneath the layers of snark in her voice and complies as best he can. All around him, sound waves attack him at every angle, fanning the fires in his skull. He sees in double vision as they make their way out of the building and knows he wouldn't be able to make it out without her help. He's done too much; the fly over, the smiting of the mother, healing Jody—it's taxed his system and now his abilities are haywire. Everything is uncomfortably loud, each sound like a pounding spike into his temples. He feels unnaturally hot, and by the cool touch of Jody's hands, he knows he's running a fever. His Grace flickers like a candle, winking in and out. It will take a long time to restore what little dredges remain of it, if at all.

But Castiel wouldn't undo any of it.

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><p>His need to be away from the outside world quickly becomes imperative. The drive in the car, much to her escalating guilt, has only made things worse for him. Every acceleration of the gas pedal, every ease of the brakes, had the angel curling tighter against the passenger side panel, head buried in his hands to ward off the onslaught. Honking horns, swerving tires, radio frequencies, people talking on the street all rise up to create one keening chorus. Jody apologizes up and down, but eventually stops speaking altogether when it becomes clear that her voice is doing more harm than good. She calls the boys when they reach her house, retreating outside as far as she can go while still being close by, and updates them on the sucktastic turn of events.<p>

Hours later, she's locked them both away in her bathroom, of all places. But it seems to help. The sounds bounce off every surface, but in the tub, it's quiet, and the room acts as an invisible shield. All the phones are shut off now, everything is unplugged, every window closed. This tiny room has become a crude sort of sanctuary. There's no outside noise to disturb them, and the cool porcelain provides relief to his high fever.

"Better?" she whispers, running careful fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and smoothing it back.

Castiel nods, eyes fluttering closed in blessed relief. "It felt like I was drowning," he murmurs back. He speaks slow, like it's an effort to do so, so Jody doesn't say anything more. She looks at him, sympathy and worry twisting her features. She regrets calling for him during the fight, another amplifier to her guilt, but she also knows that if she were to tell him this, he'd only become more upset. "It's easier to concentrate now," he goes on. "Thank you."

Jody sits on the side of the tub, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. Castiel leans into her, spent. "Try not to think for awhile, huh? Turn off the angel super brain for once and just relax."

"I seem to do that best when with you," he concedes slowly, shoulders swaying a bit in exhaustion. His head dips and Jody chuckles under her breath.

"Compliment or complaint, I like the sound of that," she says, ironing her palms over the tension in his muscles, massaging them clean. She remembers that any amount of noise is agony for him now and quickly apologizes before falling silent.

"Jody?" the angel asks after awhile.

"Try not to talk," she whispers, moving to stand. "I'll go so you can rest easier."

Before she can step away, his hand is clasped around hers, holding her in place. He's staring at their joined fingers through half-lidded eyes, somehow utterly fascinated even while in suffering. "It's strange," he says, quiet. "In my true form, I would never be able to do this." His fingers squeeze hers just a little tighter, and Jody feels a delicious ache in her middle. "Stay with me?"

Jody puts up a truly pitiable resistance, knowing how this will end, but needing to at least try on his behalf. "I won't bother you?"

He shakes his head. "The pain will pass. You almost died today."

This is all that needs to be said.

Gingerly, Jody crawls into the tub beside him, curling around until they're one shape. They stay like this for hours, Castiel never once letting go of her hand. Jody doesn't stop running her fingers through his hair, and he forgets about the pain and that he's losing more and more of who he is every day. She tells him no more flitting around and stretching himself thin because of her. He only promises to be more careful.

Shafts of moonlight slip through the panes of the window like a caress of sapphire, bathing the two sleeping figures in a tender glow until morning.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews make me happy.


	18. R is for Relationship

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews. Keep 'em coming! Nothing helps a writer more than feedback, good or bad. *shameless pining for more*

Alright, I'm done. ;)

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><p><strong>R IS FOR RELATIONSHIP<strong>

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><p>All he'd wanted out of his somewhat mundane Tuesday morning was to eat his Applejacks in peace. No monsters, no problems, and certainly no underdressed angels of the Lord. Looking up at the sound of someone entering the kitchen, Dean instantly pulls a face at the sight. "Dude. We're just walking around half-naked now?"<p>

Castiel, indeed bare-chested, purposefully scans the room, despite that the disheveled head of black hair indicates he's just woken up. "I can't find my shirt," the angel says, sounding forlorn—like it's some great travesty that's been done to him.

"So grab a different one."

Pointedly, Castiel looks at him. "Jody gave it to me."

Obviously that settles that. Dean's patient sigh is cut off by the chuckle that breaks out at the sight unfolding behind the disgruntled angel. "Yeah, well… I think she wants it back."

Jody struts in, clad only in her lady briefs and Castiel's missing shirt hanging off her shoulders. She swats his backside upon passing, shooting him a smile. "Hey, toots." The shirt's owner looks vaguely betrayed by the thievery. Dean bites his lip, hard, and considers dunking his head into his cereal. "I hope you made breakfast, because I'm starving," the underclad Jody says to the hunter.

"Aren't we the guests here?" argues Dean, hoarding his Applejacks closer when the hungry-eyed sheriff approaches.

"Why do you have my shirt?" chimes the bewildered angel, not to be forgotten.

Jody just smiles at him, giving him a peck and adding cheekily, "I could give it back, if you ask nicely."

"Well… I like that one," answers Castiel with his usual diplomacy. "And it doesn't fit you."

Dean stifles a well-deserved facepalm. "Cas, she means… you know what?" He flashes them both a tight grin, holding out a hand and getting to his feet. "Why don't you two carry on while I'm out of earshot? Awesome."

Once the hunter is gone, sporting some new emotional scars, Jody wraps her arms around the angel's waist and leans in. "Make me pancakes?"

A dark eyebrow lifts. "That could be disastrous."

Jody shrugs, then gives a pleasant wiggle at the feel of warm hands covering the small of her back. "The stove isn't like the microwave. And, I'm here to surveil you." Her dark eyes glint playfully. "I'll make sure you don't burn the house down, pyro."

Color dusts the angel's cheeks at the alluded to Microwave Fiasco that they've each sworn never to speak of again. For his benefit, mostly. "Putting me in charge of breakfast seems unwise, given prior circumstances. Stove or not."

Jody flashes her dimples at him, backing him up against the counter and nosing at his jaw. "Scaredy cat. Come on. I'm hungry. Make me food."

Caving almost instantly, Castiel smiles that little smile she's come to adore. "I can't promise they'll be edible."

"If the pancakes are a wash, we can always resort to applejacks." She stands on her tiptoes, winding her arms around his neck. Her voice drops, a low murmur against his mouth. "Or not. I'm sure I can find something around here to eat." Her remark is punctuated by the occasional nibble on his bottom lip.

Jody feels his lips curl into a smile beneath hers until they're kissing her back. He's not oblivious to _every_ connotation.

* * *

><p>Dean's alternating between breakfast cereal and a tumbler half-full of whiskey. While the television enlightens him about miracle diet pills and daytime soaps, Sam eventually lumbers in, fresh from a shower. Dean feels the cushions depress as his brother takes a seat next to him. The younger Winchester's brow is furrowed, his eyes squinted; a preemptive signal of an approaching question.<p>

"Dude. Why is Cas cooking pancakes?" A blink. An earnest stare. "And not wearing a shirt?" He frowns a little at the memory of the angel offering him a cordial nod—_Good morning, Sam_—before calmly turning back to the stove, as though his nude upper body was commonplace.

The only immediate response he receives is the slide of a second tumbler as Dean pours him a shot of his own. "How sad is it when the angel's gettin' laid and we aren't?" Dean eventually points out, shaking his head and slumping into the cushions as though it's now him at the end of some great travesty.

Ever the pratical one, Sam shrugs. "At least he's finally getting some."

Dean laughs, and continues to do so until the seductive smell of pancakes beckons both brothers into braving PDA central for anything soaked in maple syrup.

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><p>"Any plans today?" Once the brothers are off on whatever perilous adventure deemed worthy of their time, Jody slips up next to Cas, bumping his hip with hers. Grabbing a dishrag, she helps him clean up what little mess there is from breakfast. Castiel watches in amusement as she attacks the dish with fervor, offering any speck no means of escape. Something's on her mind.<p>

"Since I'm not needed on the hunt, I believe I'm free of obligation. Why?"

"Indulge my nosiness," she says, smirking when she gets to the batter spill with her rag. "I just wonder where you go when you're not with them or with me."

"Mostly I roam. Nothing of import."

"But... what do you do? Sightseeing? Secret missions? Baseball games?"

Castiel shrugs, and Jody wants to hug his brains out because the gesture on him is adorable. But then he's making her chest clench like the flipping of a switch without even meaning to. "Wait for your call." At her look, his brow quirks. "I don't really have anywhere else to go." But he goes anyways, so she won't tire of him.

"Yes you do. You're staying with me." Her shoulders are squared and the inflection of her voice tells him that he's misjudged the situation yet again, but also that Jody is vying for assurance. She wants him to know that he isn't forgotten just because they have nothing for him to do.

Something pleasant inside him churns at her obduracy. He could kiss the frown right off her mouth, but somehow refrains. Still, while he gets her meaning, it seems a bit objectionable. Dropping his voice, he asks, "Isn't that... scandalous?"

He knows he's said the right thing because she's immediately spilling laughter and sugary smiles. "Shacking up with an angel?" Jody snickers impishly. "Probably. Let them talk." Swiping the air with a dismissive hand wave, she steps into his arms and nestles in. Once in his embrace, Jody drops a kiss just below his collarbone and says, "This is your home, Castiel."

The angel considers this while reveling in the soothing warmth of her body pressed against his. The walls surrounding him are a shelter, a sanctuary, certainly; but his home, he knows, lies in the construction of flesh and soul currently nosing her way along his chest. He smiles, and he can't remember a time when he's ever done so this often. It feels nice. "Jody?"

"Yeah, honey?"

"I'd like my shirt back."

Her eyes light up with laughter and mischief and they finish upstairs what was started in the kitchen. Castiel thinks he's never been so happy, and the feeling of being wanted is a strong and daunting sensation that he cherishes against his borrowed heart along with all the promises they make to each other. That night, and every morning to follow.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> You know you wanna click on that button. Shirtless Cas would want you to click on that button.


	19. S is for Stolen

**Author's Note:** Hopefully updates will come more steadily after this doozy. It actually hurt to write... aaaaannnngssst.

Sidenote, while this fic is nearing it's "official" end, I remind you that there will be a couple bonus chapters, but I'll also most certainly continue it on with many unrelated oneshots as well (while still posted under this entry). This means, for you as the readers, I will be accepting requests. ;D

So if you have any Jodstiel scenarios you'd like to see played out, drop 'em in my inbox, or in a review. Ta!

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><p><strong>S is for Stolen<strong>

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><p>The moment she calls him, by phone instead of prayer, he can hear it in her voice. Something is wrong. The inflection is off, there's a coldness weaved between every syllable… She sounds angry, but it's more than that, and he already has a very bad feeling.<p>

He considers flying over, though he's not far from the house; just out by the pond. She didn't want him overexerting himself, either. And yet… something itches at the back of his mind and in a blink, he's standing in the cellar next to her. His head swims a bit, balance off kilter with the strain such travel puts on him lately, but in the next second it's passed.

Castiel watches her for a moment, brow drawn. "What are you doing?"

Into a nearby cardboard box go herbs and mason jars and several warding totems. She tosses them in as though angry with their existence. "Help me get rid of this crap, will you?"

The angel pauses, not certain how to respond. Confusion paints across his face. "I don't understand. What's wrong with it?"

With a slam, Jody shoves another box loudly onto the floor and rises sharply to glare back at him. "Because I'm sick of _looking at it_, Castiel. I wasn't aware I needed a reason to clean out my own damn house."

Something twists unpleasantly in his gut, at the way she says his name, at the way she's looking at him. "You don't need a reason," he quickly placates, feeling a buzz settle between his shoulders. In addition, a small twinge of hurt burrows under his ribs, because he'd thought this was his house now as well. He's clearly misunderstood, but doesn't hold it against her—he knows that, for all his progress, he still has a ways to go on human communication. He knows too that she'd had an argument earlier that day with the mayor, so he doesn't blame her for the foul mood. "I only wondered if…" at the balefulness of her stare, Castiel trails off and shakes his head. "It's nothing. How can I help?"

A box is shoved into his arms. "Burn all of this."

"Where are your matches?"

"I thought you could just light it up with your mojo?"

Castiel hesitates, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He resists the odd urge to scratch at the back of his neck like he's noticed Dean sometimes does when he's anxious. "I suppose I could try. But with the way my Grace has been depleted, it would prove difficult. I thought you wished for me to minimize any expending of my abilities?"

"Well I don't have any matches left, and neither of us has been to the store," Jody grates, looking more frustrated.

"I'll try," Castiel insists, in an effort to appease her. It's only matches… he can't understand her hurry, nor her impatience, but if Jody says it needs to go, it must be important.

Except she's already snatching the box back out of his hands with a fierce sigh. "Forget it. Just gonna have to wait for the boys to get back if I want anything done."

He stares, faced with her back, a strong feeling of dismay lancing through him. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Jody snorts softly and says under her breath, "Of course not. You can't do anything."

"Jody?"

The sheriff shakes her head, huffing out a breath and rolling her eyes as she straightens. Spreading out her hands, she offers a humorless laugh that does nothing to help him understand where he's gone wrong. "You know what? Never mind. I don't care, it doesn't matter."

Castiel frowns. "If there's something you wish to say to me then, please, say it."

Her words are delivered with all the subtlety of a sucker punch to the gut. "Maybe if you had any powers left, you'd be a little more useful. Instead of just standing there, taking up space where a warrior should be." _Where someone _important_ should be_, the unspoken all but screams at him.

His lungs empty of air and his eyes nearly liquefy as they bore, anguished, into hers. "I don't know what I could possibly do to keep them from diminishing. I'm sorry."

Jody closes in on him. "That's all you have to say? _I'm sorry_? It seems like there's nothing you can do lately but stand around and spout apology after worthless apology! Can you even do anything else, angel, or are you as completely useless as you seem?" The sharp flash of hurt and shame that crosses Castiel's often inexpressive face does nothing to deter her. Hot pain steals through his heart, branding him like a mired man. What was that saying? Like watching a trainwreck? Except somehow, he is the one lashed to the tracks. He can't understand this shift, though he knows he deserves every bit of it. Like chinks of armor falling at his feet, his impenetrable defenses, all conviction, breaks down again. Jody's lip curls in a sneer of pity mixed with something that terribly resembles revulsion. "But you're not an angel anymore, are you? Not really. You're the ghost of an angel. A ghost of a warrior. Look at you. You aren't fighting for anything but your selfishness. You nearly destroyed the whole damn world with your arrogance and guess what? The world doesn't want you anymore. You should've stayed dead for once."

Despite the burning in his eyes, Castiel nods and tries to swallow past the burgeoning lump in his throat. He has no retort, much less a rebuttal. Her hateful words seep into him like poison and suddenly he doesn't know up from down. His vision hazes, darkening at the edges until it's swimming and he can't remember how to stand on his own two feet. He knows it isn't her—know immediately that something is so very wrong—but he sees her lips forming the words, hears the tear of flesh as they cut into his skin and scar.

"You and those Winchesters… I tell you," the sheriff growls. "If I had a nickel for every piss and moan and _whine_ I've had to listen to, I'd have gotten out of this little shitsplat town a long time ago." Her shoulders sway with her body, hypnotic, like a serpent. Fingers curling into claws. The hint of a smile. "Am I getting under that marble skin yet, handsome?"

Somewhere in the cruel silence, a pin drops. The world rushes back into focus and his temperament flips like a light switch, suddenly narrowed eyes darkening.

Castiel has it by the throat in an instant, hauling it forward with a wrenching yank. "_Get out of her_," he commands, in a growl filled with more authority than he's ever used. His voice drags like sandpaper over cut gravel and he finally recognizes the signs of possession now—because it _must_ be that. Because Jody would never say such things; perhaps of him, but never of the Winchesters, whom he knows she loves. Because he couldn't bear it if… _if_… Castiel feels a deep swell of rage surge up in his core. For a frightening second, he can't control his own anger and it's lashing out at this _thing_ because _how dare it take her_.

At his outburst, and at the biting grip around her neck, russet eyes slick to black. The thing manipulates Jody's features into a twisted smile, daring him to cross the line and actually harm her. "You'll have to rip me out, piece by piece, angel. She's mine."

Castiel looks upon the demon with such loathing, the shelves of the cellar begin to shake. The light above their heads fizzes in and out. The glass block window splits, and the support beams around them groan.

"Look at you sparkle," the demon drawls, then becomes the embodiment of heinous satisfaction. "You should have seen the look on your face. The King of Hell sends his regards."

Castiel grips harder. "_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii_…"

* * *

><p>He hadn't been able to tell it was a demon.<p>

That's the thought that runs through his head now. Well… when the demon's words aren't replaying through head, or the _hate_ in Jody's expression isn't flashing in a never-ending loop across the backs of his eyes. Running a numb hand across his face, Castiel shifts uncomfortably in the chair where he's kept vigil over the sleeping sheriff for the past two hours. She's tucked into her bed, dead to the world, but the slow rise and fall of her chest brings him small comfort. Even still, he feels exhausted. He hadn't exerted much physical effort while exorcising the demon, so he can't for the life of him make sense of this bone-weariness that keeps him permanently slouched in his seat.

"Hey, man." Dean's voice invades his thoughts, and he looks up to see both brothers hovering at the doorway like oversized children with shuffling feet. "One of us can spot you for a bit if you want."

"You can get some rest," adds Sam, in his usual considerate tone. There's a furrow of worry pinching his eyebrows together, and sadness in his eyes. Dean tries to keep himself together, for everyone's sake, but Castiel can see the cracks at the surface. Any other time, he might try to reassure them. Instead, he's trying to figure out how to keep himself from coming apart. His insides feel like pillars of sand, crumbling, crumbling, until the hourglass can turn to start again. The sense of rejection, of… _loss_, that he's left with is overwhelming and he doesn't know how to handle it. Only that he has to.

"I'll stay," he mutters hoarsely. In spite of the hurt somersaulting through him, he'll die before he leaves her.

Dean nods in a vague but acknowledging way, staring at the damaged figure inside the room. Something had happened. With a reluctant grunt, it isn't long before his shadow leaves the doorway, words about running into town to pick up supplies trailing after him. Sam never leaves. It's another hour later before Castiel hears his soft snores through the wall, the younger hunter slumped now against the jamb with his knees asunder and his chin tucked against his chest.

Tomorrow they'll make sure Jody has an anti-possession tattoo, but for now, they all need to recuperate.

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><p>"Feathers?"<p>

Castiel's head jerks up and the chair creaks, and he only now realizes he'd fallen asleep as well. Her voice, soft, pierces straight through him and he's shooting to his feet and in the blink of an eye, he's at her bedside. "Jody."

The sheriff blinks blearily up at him, like she doesn't quite know up from down. "Ugh, it feels like I tried to swallow a cactus," she rasps.

"I'll get some water," Sam's voice chimes from the other side of the room and Castiel had forgotten he was there. His echoing footsteps are heard until the staircase, where they fade into silence.

"Jody," the angel says again, because he needs to. Her fingers are a breadth from his and he wants to touch her, but somehow feels that he's lost the right. She'd been in danger, hurt, because he failed to see the true face masquerading as hers. Because his wards didn't hold up against the powerful being clever enough to break through them. Because… of all the things the demon reminded him of, while wearing her skin.

Yet Jody is suddenly the one gripping his fingers, a smile that's as tired as he feels sliding across her face. "You are a sight for sore eyes, handsome."

A laugh like broken glass tries to break out, but he stops it before it can. Getting his voice under working control, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I OD'd on acid and got eaten by a bear," snarks the sheriff with a weary chuckle. More seriously, she closes her eyes and attempts to gain her bearings. "Things are a bit fuzzy still… I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Her eyes open to look at him, lashes spreading wide and hooding the soft tones. She's staring at him like she needs to know the answer, and he has no idea what to say. Jody swears she sees a shadow of pain race across his face, and then it's gone. "No," Castiel murmurs, eyes fixed on the floor. Retreating from hers. "I was able to extract the demon before any damage was done." He feels like laughing again, although he can think of nothing funny about what's happened. He just wants to laugh and laugh until this pain eating at him finally goes away. His limbs and chest are raw at every silent reminder he'll never repeat to her, and he has to close trembling fingers into fists to steady them until he has full control again.

"Here." Sam's back with the water, and Jody gulps it down gratefully. Castiel is just thankful for the lumbering hunter's intrusion and takes the opportunity to pull away and retreat back to his chair.

Jody watches him with thinly veiled dismay, but pays attention to everything Sam has to say on the situation as it is now.

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><p>"Hey, stud, come here," Jody says softly, when they're alone. She's sitting up in bed, the covers folded neatly in her lap, though her own fingers twist anxiously in the sheets.<p>

Castiel is already halfway to the door. "Did you need something? I can call for Sam."

"No, I just want you." Jody pats the space beside her gently. " Come here."

Castiel hovers with hesitation where he stands, his expression downcast. "I need to make sure you're safe," he mutters, almost to himself. "I can't… I can't afford to get distracted."

"You sent the demon away, and it isn't coming back."

"There could be more," he whispers, and there's emotion in his voice that shouldn't be.

"Cas." He meets her eyes reluctantly, and immediately knows he's lost this one. Jody's gaze settles on him beseechingly, and even confined to bed and sporting dark circles under her eyes, she looks the strongest he's ever seen her. Her skin is two shades too pale, but she can still make him do anything. "Please."

His heart jackknifes and he's instantly at her side, lowering himself onto the bed beside her.

"I remember." Again, her words are like mortal blows. "I know what it said to you."

Of all the conversations he never, _ever_, wanted to have… Castiel squeezes his eyes tightly shut, but does nothing to stop her from going on.

"I heard every word, and _none_ of it was true. Do you hear me? Castiel, look at me," she quietly commands, and he obeys. She doesn't pretend she can't remember anything; it isn't her to do so. And strangely, she's the one who now looks like they're falling apart. His eyes show such a vulnerability and pain, like cracked ice, and she needs that look to go away. Seeing him like this is the closest she's ever come to torture. "They were terrible, terrible lies."

He nods, feeling somehow like he doesn't inhabit his own body. And really, he doesn't. "I believe you," he croaks out. His voice sounds hollow, even to his own ears. Even as he says it, the day's events carve at his mind, digging against walls and burrowing in. His shoulders quake in a passing shudder and he bows his head. He cannot meet her eyes. Too overwhelmed by hurt and shame and renewed insecurity, he cannot look at her. But Jody, in a heartbeat, shocks him into speechlessness.

"Castiel, I love you," she stresses, like she needs to say it, like it's important, and his eyes fly to hers. "With all my heart."

He stares at her, dumbstruck. Her expression, every nuance, is very serious. Shoulders squared, chin level, eyes clear, she faces him with all the sway of a hurricane wrapped in calm cellophane.

"I can't promise what tomorrow will bring, but I swear on my life and to your Father, I will love you. I will be here, at your side, through thick and thin. Rain, sleet, or dead of night. Just like the post office. Capiché?"

A startled laugh barks out of him; he can't help it. Castiel stares at her, like she's the biggest mystery of the universe. He had better luck understanding Pandora and the inner-workings of Dean Winchester's brain.

"And if I _ever_ speak to you like that without some hellspawn jammed down my throat… you'd better knock me on my ass, do you understand me?"

The angel blinks, derailed. "I beg your pardon?"

Jody's impassioned now. "If it was any other reason, a move like that and I'd stir fry your wings faster than you could say 'Hey Dixie.' But you don't take crap from anyone, Cas. Least of all me. Okay?" She pins him down with a glare; she can be merciless when she wants to be.

"Okay," he replies, because he has no idea what else to say to that. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and she's going to hell, but she freaking adores that expression on him.

Jody snorts. "This is the part where you kiss me, featherbrain."

She barely gets the sentence out before he's kissing her—he is a fast learner, after all. For the first time since he's Fallen, Castiel is flying again. Relief floods into him like a tidal wave, expelling all other senses, and he can breathe again. He sighs against her mouth, rigid shoulders finally relaxing. Her arms wind around his neck, wrists crossing, fingers threading enthusiastically into his hair. The covers are tossed aside and Jody leaps up and her legs wind around his waist so that she's embracing him with her entire body.

When had he stood up?

"You looked like you were about to zap off," Jody snickers in his mouth. "We're outside."

Castiel pulls away in confusion, just long enough to look around and see that they're standing under the tree by the pond where Jody first swore her friendship to him. He can picture the brothers' identical exclamations of "the hell?" in response to their disappearing act and a chuckle of his own bursts out of the angel's throat, the grin beyond his control.

Castiel holds her up high, their brief laughter drowning out the sounds of twilight. "Never again," Jody tells him, and he knows what she means.

He sees the dusting of purple on her neck and trails a thumb over the bruise he'd left. "I'm sorry," he says, because he is, but it's more for the benefit of general apology than consuming guilt.

"Shut up. So am I." She says this against his lips, etching them like a scribe on his memory and his heart. So that he won't forget.

He kisses her, with increasing passion, then proceeds to mark the column of her throat with his mouth and quiet words. Things like, _thank you, thank you. You're so beautiful, a true light of Creation. Warm. Thank you._ If he is capable of love, and it seems more and more that he is, his heart, whatever it's worth, is hers. Her soul is pure warmth to him, and that should have been his first clue; the cold feeling when he'd stepped into that cellar, it wasn't her.

"Cut it out," she chides him around another laugh, the clouds of their breaths mingling in the chilly air.

Castiel cups her cheeks with both hands, staring down at her like, if he looks hard and long enough, he'll understand what makes her who she is. "I can't lose you."

"You won't," Jody is fast to assure him, the blanket of stars above their heads reflected in her eyes. In the next breath, she's flashing him a toothy grin and tugging impatiently on his lapels. "I'm already dug in like a tick."

"That's an unpleasant metaphor," Castiel all but laments. He's giving her a disparaging look, and his expression is almost comical.

Jody buries her face in the warmth of his coat and laughs until there are tears in her eyes. "Take us home, would you? I'm starting to freeze my tush off, and I can think of a few ways to warm it up."

Castiel obliges. He knows it isn't the cold that steals his breath.

One day, they'll talk about the things he can't speak aloud. The things he's done, those done to him. Not yet, but one day.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Reviews make Author a happy camper. A happy Author is a happy fic. Whoops, haiku'd. I think.


	20. T is for Terrestrial

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the wonderful reviews, everyone! My life, it is made. *velcros to all of you in delight*

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><p><strong>T is for Terrestrial<strong>

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><p><em>Ninety degrees of pure summer<em>, Jody reflects with a sense of idle bliss. Sprawled over a towel in her bathing suit, the sun is hitting her just right and she has no plans to move within the next several hours. She's dozed off several times, a cottontail came over and nosed at her a bit, and life is pretty damn good during her days off. It never once crosses her mind that calling in sick to the station in favor of sunbathing could be considered poor work ethic.

_Screw 'em. I just bailed some schoolkids out of a vamp nest. Sioux Falls can deal with a little teenage vandalism while I'm gone. _

It's a few minutes later when she feels the shadow come over her. Goosebumps spot her arms in the sudden shade. "Why do I feel like I have this angel standing over me?" Jody muses, lips playfully curling. Her eyes stay opaque and hidden yet, though.

"I'd like to have a child with you."

Jody lowers her sunglasses slowly, staring at the interruption, nonplussed. "Right now?"

Perplexed by that, Castiel shakes his head. "No, of course not." He lowers himself beside her on the towel, settling in.

She looks at him, quirking lips betraying her attempt at deadpan. "Well I'm going to need you to elaborate, stud." She uses the nickname this time with every entendre intended, but if he notices, it doesn't show. The angel opens his mouth to reply, but pauses when the words don't seem to work their way out. Jody nudges her shoulder against his, genuinely curious now. "What brought this on? Seeing those kids back with their families? Saving them?"

"I suppose I'm not quite sure. I don't really know how to…"

Jody shrugs. "Just say whatever you're thinking. This is a safe zone—you know you can tell me anything." She offers him a little smile and Castiel feels most of his nerves ebb immediately at the sight. "Unless you're considering monkism. Don't tell me that."

Castiel grins a little, there and gone before she can really appreciate it, and they wait in the silence together for awhile until he can order his thoughts. He's been thinking about a lot of things lately, child-bearing being among them. The more human he becomes, the less he feels like a foreign entity in her life, and he can't help but entertain the tempting images of a real human existence and all it entails with the woman at his side. "I have no desire to become a monk."

"Good to know, because I'd hate to have all of your new tricks go to waste. Even still, I for one am impressed you're already harboring inclinations to procreate," she says, emulating the angel beside her with the last bit, guttural voice and all. That makes him smile, amusement dancing in his eyes. Sometimes, she still can't believe a creature like him would have any desire to mix with one of the mudmonkeys. It's a rarity, but every once in awhile her brain catches up to the fact that he'll never really be human, that her _boyfriend_ was once a timeless creature who journeyed the galaxies _eons_ before she was even a twinkle in Mayor Mills' eye. And then there are these moments, when he goes and drops a bombshell like _I'd like to have a child with you_ on her like an innocent little tomcat who had no idea there was a canary hanging out of his mouth. She loves the hell out of it. "Got a ring for me, too?"

His brow puckers. "Ring?"

"Engagement ring, featherpants. If you're gonna knock me up, you might as well make an honest woman out of me, while you're at it."

"Oh," says Castiel, surprised. He speaks softly, turning introspective and thoughtful. "I don't have anything like that," he murmurs, staring down at his hands as though if he wills it hard enough, perhaps one would appear. He doesn't even know where he could get one, especially on such short notice.

Jody fills his empty palms with hers, words surrounded by her gentle laughter. "I was kidding, Cas. Relax."

"I think you enjoy making me nervous," the angel says archly, eyes narrowed at her, but the twinkle of mirth in their blue depths tells her everything she needs to know.

Cheeks rounding with her grin, Jody snickers and gives his knee a squeeze. "Maybe if you weren't so easy. Besides, you give as good as you get. How many times did you pop up out of nowhere and scare me half to death? You'll never admit it, but I know you enjoyed it. A lot."

Castiel stares at her, a fleeting shadow of smugness dancing across his face.

Jody growls at him, teeth bared in a challenging smile. "See? You may be an angel, boy, but you kiss like the devil." When she leans into his mouth, he nips at her bottom lip, just to prove her point.

Inwardly, he thinks on her words. Fading powers or not, he's still an excellent multitasker. And there are still things he doesn't understand, at least on a personal level. Marriage, for example, is something he's not quite sure how to approach. If it's an option at all, if it's merely a whim of his curious mood, or a dozen other possibilities that are swarming his mind. He tells her this and watches her expression carefully, trying to read her. "Is that something you would want?" His general consensus in all things concerning Jody, if it was important to her, it was important to him.

"It's a possibility," Jody agrees. "I was married before, I had a child. It's something I've always held in high respect."

Castiel frowns, suddenly ashamed. "I'd forgotten about that. I'm sorry. Talking about this must upset you. I didn't mean to be insensitive." Given the tragic circumstances of her family's death, he wishes now that he'd never come to her today. What was the expression? Sticking one's foot in one's mouth? It brings a peculiar image to mind, but he thinks that it's nonetheless accurate of how he feels.

But Jody laughs, cozying up to him. "You weren't, sweetheart."

The angel sighs, feathers good and ruffled. "It's strange. Thousands of years spent observing the human race and I feel like I know just as much now as I did then."

"Could be, old man," Jody pipes up, and Castiel offers her a brief and self-deprecatory look. Jody wipes the look off his face with a peck. "For one thing, you're missing the basic mechanics of how to sunbathe properly." She tugs at the hem of his shirt and Castiel lifts his arms, allowing her to pull it over his head. "Or maybe not. I think you have a perpetual tan." At his inquiring lift of an eyebrow, Jody scowls at him. "It isn't fair. I have to work for color."

His lips tip in a fleeting smile, fingers smoothing down her arm. "I like your skin."

"Suck up." But she smiles at the flattery.

"You know…" he starts, after a minute or so, "were we to have a child, there's a chance it wouldn't be human. At least, not fully."

Jody sees the hesitancy in his demeanor, the seeds of doubt springing up. He's quiet, all of a sudden, wary to go on. "I guess that's not a complete shocker, seeing as he or she would have a Fallen angel for a father." He winces at the word _Fallen_, and Jody bites her lip regretfully. "Is it even possible? I did pay attention in mythology class in high school, but truth is a little heavier than fiction."

Castiel considers this. "I'd heard stories of nephilim children; beings borne of human and angel parents. But the legends were kept so secret that labeling them as truth _or_ fiction is virtually impossible. Does that worry you?"

Instead of answering right away, Jody takes her time to give his question some thought. Castiel likes that—she puts thought into everything he says, always. If it's important to him, it is to her. In his time spent on earth, he's come to learn that deliberation can also mean importance, reflection, and care. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "Can I tell you a secret?" Castiel makes a soft noise in his throat, waiting for her to go on. Jody leans in, voice caressing his face like a feather, fingers catching over ridges of muscle on his chest and abdomen. "I think about making babies with you… _all the time_."

That brings an instant smile to his face. He always loves that suggestive tone of hers. It promises wonderful pleasures to come. "Sometimes I think about the future," he admits. "Now that mine's become so limited."

"And what've you decided?" Jody asks, twining her arms around his. She rests her chin on his shoulder and waits for a response.

Castiel thinks. Another thing he's learned—sometimes, you didn't have to reflect a long time on something to know what you wanted. Sometimes, you just knew. "I know I want to spend whatever time I have here with you."

Jody slides her fingers through his, a sunny smile curving her lips, able to look at him and finally see their future in eyes the color of the sky above their heads. She looks like she wants to kiss him. Castiel really likes when she looks at him like that. Not one to disappoint, she brushes her lips on his, and he can taste the emotion in the kiss, the love. Such a funny thing. To _feel_ love. Stranger still, being able to identify it.

Castiel marvels at what his world, his existence, has become. He would change none of it, yet, to this day, he's waiting to wake from the dream.

"Hold me," Jody whispers to him, and he feels the brush of her eyelashes against his neck. The sunlight leaves a halo around the crown of her hair, bringing out the often bashful shades of red.

Complying, Castiel readjusts himself to accommodate her, so that she can huddle in between his legs. His arms come around her, and together, they sit watching the ducks fly into the pond. And as the horizon ignites in the fire of sundown hours later, he brings his lips to her ear and murmurs, "If I'm understanding the simple mechanics of sunbathing, I believe I'll have a Jody-sized shape on this body's chest when we leave here."

Jody snickers. "That'll be a new one. Want me to move?"

Castiel pulls her in tighter, holding her in place. "Not for the world."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> It's almost 5am here. I have nothing of import or intelligence to say. Merp.

This note, I regret to inform you, shall remain boring and unsatisfying. Please review. That is all.


	21. U is for Unite

**Author's Note:** So I made a pretty little graphic for "Jodstiel" that you can view on my tumblr (username elocin-muse), otherwise, if you go on my author's page, there will be a direct link to it. I'll also be making a video for them in the (hopefully) near future.

Thank you everyone for the reviews! Have some Jody POV!

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><p><strong>U is for Unite<strong>

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><p>Castiel is an angel that has gone through more transitions than any other human being or creature ever will. More and more every day, a new layer is uncovered, like peeling back veils on dusty tomes that reveal the golden pages beneath. He has little quirks, which most of the time I can't wait to uncover. For example, when he's awake, he keeps a fair amount distance—whether because of Dean drilling it into his head about personal space over the years, or because he's still not used to so much human contact is anybody's guess. But on the rare occasion when he's asleep, he is the clingiest thing you'll ever see.<p>

I wake up pressed against him, on my own side of the bed, where he's migrated overnight. I nose into his collarbone and wrap both arms around him, in no hurry to get up. Castiel makes a small sound, smiling happily. "You're a furnace, for heaven's sake," I grumble not long after, putting up a futile resistance when the summer heat and his own body temperature becomes too much.

His hands trap me in place, quiet victory crossing his features. "I don't think any fever of mine pertains to the sake of Heaven."

"Smartass." I scratch my fingernails lightly down his front, digging in a bit at his sides. The angel makes a choked sound and squirms. I cackle triumphantly. He's ticklish on his stomach. I'm not kidding. This is one of the best discoveries and probably my favorite. Laughter bubbles up in his throat as he tries to slip away, but I trap him just as mercilessly. When he laughs, for that brief moment, every guard is down and he's so free that it might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Even with his mojo watered down, he's still stronger than me, so I don't keep him subdued for long. In the next second, he's looming over me and I'm stuck between two arms with his smiling face staring down at me. "You are tempting Fate, Jody Mills."

"Good thing you're not Fate, then," I say, pressing my luck.

"Agent of Fate," he rumbles of himself, lifting a dark eyebrow.

"My mistake." I let my hands slide over his shoulders, fingers inching for his torso again. "Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

He laughs again, catching my devilish paws before they can do more damage. With one hand, he keeps them trapped between our bodies, and the other he uses to comb away errant locks of hair from my face with a gentle caress. He dips down to place his lips over mine. "If I didn't already know the Devil, I think I might confuse you for him."

Against his lips, I murmur back, "You sure know how to sweet talk."

"You're much more beautiful," he offers softly, with equal parts humor and sincerity.

And when Castiel loves, he loves and serves unconditionally. It's spoken through every touch, every glance, with passion that is sometimes a whisper and sometimes a stunning plea. Sometimes there's ringing, a shadow of Grace wrapped around us, the featherlight caress of invisible wings. And sometimes, his eyes are so blue it hurts to look at them, yet I still can't find it in me to look away.

I sigh into his kiss, running my fingers through his hair and leaning into him. It's always such a pleasure when he's fearless enough to initiate contact.

* * *

><p>He'll never admit it, but he loves <em>Fifty Ways to Say Goodbye<em>, by Train. This is Dean Winchester's fault completely for getting him addicted to it, and Sam will never let either of them live it down. It's on the younger Winchester's top ten playlist though as well, and there are car rides I hear about where they blast it over the radio as loud as it will go in the Impala after a particularly triumphant hunt. It's a guilty pleasure and Dean swears them all to secrecy, under pain of death.

The first time I'd heard Cas humming it to himself while cleaning his weapons, I howled hysterically until I had tears in my eyes. His cheeks had flushed, but he'd merely smirked my way and went back to work as though nothing was amiss. I'd hooted all the way back up the stairs.

It was stuck in my head all day after that.

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><p>I know he misses Heaven. There are nights when I'll find the space beside me empty and look out the window to see him sitting beneath our tree, staring up at the stars. Sometimes he'll stay out there all night. Sometimes I leave him alone, sometimes I go and sit with him. He always looks relieved when I do, so I go as often as I can. I'll huddle in the circle of his arms against the chill, and most nights I fall asleep whether I mean to or not. Every morning though, I wake up in our bed, with the smell of caffeine filling my nostrils.<p>

Cas is getting better at making coffee. He's pretty proud of himself. Angels are smug when they get something right, I've learned, although the arguments between Frank and an almighty celestial being over how much creamer and sugar was appropriate were damn hysterical. But even the grouchy old crackpot has been grumbling his own version of praise these days.

"Not bad, for an overgrown pigeon."

The boys and Frank have been teaching him how to shoot. Cas likes his shotguns; there's always the ghost of a smile on his face when he's firing away at old beer bottles and newspaper clippings of Dick Roman's face. Men and their toys. Whatever's biggest and loudest gets them riled up like it's Christmas morning come early.

* * *

><p>This week we've been repainting the house. Dean suggested "Romance Red" for the <em>lovenest<em> to which Cas merely raised a quizzical eyebrow, while I made sure the path of the hose veered off course to douse the older Winchester in below freezing water. So far, the '_son of a bitch!'_ tally has reached double digits. Three of those were from Cas, because Dean is a suck influence on everyone around him.

Sunday, the boys noticed a beehive in one of the maples next to the house. It was high enough and out of the way, but unfortunately too close to open windows, so vertical they went. Angels are pretty adept at climbing trees, which was interesting to learn. Dean Winchester has the freakish dexterity of a monkey, which was a shocker, while moose—to no one's surprise—have about as much climbing talent as an elephant trying to top a fig tree. Frank bellowed orders from the ground. Happy to let the boys get stung up and full of sap without me, I did my part by handing off the broom through the window. Dean wanted to try out the new flamethrower on the bees, but the other two knuckleheads talked him out of it before he could light the whole lawn on fire.

* * *

><p>Through what could only be great mystery, the Winchesters somehow found out about our little rugrat discussion. When the teasing stopped, they marched off to the pond with boards and rope to build a rope swing off one of the oaks. It remains to be seen if any potential kids will ever see the swing, as it was broken and reconstructed a dozen times due to a pair of burly man-children and one angel launching themselves into the water from it and scaring the living hell out of any unsuspecting ducks foolish enough to venture too close.<p>

"The secret to any good construction job is beta-testing," Dean Winchester gruffs informatively. "Cas! You gotta swing from the backbone, man, if you wanna catch decent air! Sam, show him!"

Sam has broken the swing a total of eight times, howling like the King of the Jungle every time he hurtles off into the air. The guys laugh and hurry to rebuild it so they can do it all over again. I sit on the shore, occasionally dipping in when the pleas to come join outweigh my desire to stay dry. The sight of three half-naked men, glistening wet and all smiles, is a pleasant one, so I don't complain.

Cas dashes past me in his cut off jeans with more supplies for the brothers, hair dripping water into his face. I turn away from my book to swat after him with a smirk. "Nice ass."

He grins over his shoulder at me.

"Cas, hurry up! We're making it bigger!" This is hollered with great excitement. Bigger really means higher, and I swear they're all going to break their necks and I'll be the one babysitting all three of their whiny butts and spoon-feeding them meals. Mark my words, a matter of time. They're grown men (more or less) who hunt monsters for a living, and they're whooping like five year olds. Wonders never cease, I tell you.

Remarkably, the afternoon carries on without injury. Then, out of nowhere, I feel the sudden pressure of arms wrap around me, which would be fine, except Castiel is sopping wet. "Come in the water with me," he says, with almost childlike glee.

I shriek and recoil as he plops beside me on the grass, shoving at him halfheartedly and trying not to laugh. "I don't have to, you just dumped the whole lake on me!"

"Then you have no reason to stay here. You're already wet, come with me."

"Ohhh, you're _terrible_," I berate him, putting up a futile struggle. He's getting way too good at one-upmanship. I laugh when nothing derails his efforts. "Go away!"

"Dean said if you continued to resist, I should do this."

I shriek again when he suddenly hauls me up into his arms, then leaps right off the small knoll to hurl us both into the water.

* * *

><p>She doesn't know what it is about the universe that, for every happy moment experienced in his life, Castiel must suffer yet another tragedy to make up for it.<p>

While out on a hunt, a man had recognized Castiel from when he'd been possessed by the Leviathans. The man's sister had been among the slain at the political campaign gathering. What happened during the confrontation doesn't need repeating. It's the aftermath that fills her with worry and her lover with new despair.

"He should have killed me," Castiel murmurs miserably to the nothingness around him. "He should have killed me."

Jody is there, threading fingers through his hair, cupping his face, gripping his shoulders. "Enough," is all she says. Softly.

Those fingers brush away any tears that fall, like they never were. This level of emotion still terrifies him, like a drowning man trying to stay afloat, and he doesn't know how to cope with it. He buries his face in the crook of her shoulder and throat and her arms come around him. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice muffled against her.

Her whisper surrounds him like a balm. "I know."

"_I'm so sorry_."

Her lips are at his temple, his forehead. "I know. I know."

It takes him a long time to pull himself back together, but he does. He gets up, squares his shoulders, and follows the boys onto the next case. After all, disgraced humans made natural hunters.

"I'll be here when you get back," Jody promises him.

Castiel stares at her like it's exactly what he needs to hear. He pulls her close and holds her tight, unwilling to let her go for a moment. "I don't think I could do this without you," he whispers into her hair, closing his eyes.

Jody feels her heart swell up painfully, and she's suddenly blinking back tears of her own. So often after the death of her family, before the angel came into her life, the world just didn't seem worth being a part of. "Me either," she whispers back.

They both have so far to go, but together, the road seems shorter and not so dark.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Homestretch, people! The more you review, the more bonus chapters I throw in! ;D

Also, if you don't know the song "Fifty Ways to Say Goodbye" look it up. Now. For reals. It's so anti-Cas it's perfect.


	22. V is for Vertigo

**Author's note:** So, so late on this. I have no excuse. Forgive me.

(sidenote: once this is finished I'll be going back over it and doing a giant rewrite - I happened to find all my old notes, much to my combined relief and chagrin)

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><p><strong>V is for Vertigo<strong>

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><p>It's a normal enough day. Sun shining, birds singing—no bad omens to speak of. When the brothers call him, he can sense their hurry, so he has little time to waste. Whatever it is, it sounds urgent. Jody looks up from her yard work when he snaps his cellphone shut, raising an inquiring eyebrow.<p>

"I'll be back shortly," Castiel says. "Dean and Sam are in Maine and need assistance."

Jody smiles over her shoulder at him, the bandana on her head catching the breeze. "Bring me back a souvenir, would ya? Something that says: '_you can spit on Canada from here_.'"

Castiel smiles too, eyes crinkling at their corners. "Of course."

Something alarming happens, then.

Flying, for angels, came as natural to them as breathing did to humans. There was no need to really think about it, no need to devote conscious effort into making it happen. Additionally, there wasn't much that could hinder an angel's capability of flight, save for actual damage to the wings themselves, which was no easy task.

There's only one other culprit that could ultimately be responsible.

Like any other time, Castiel managed to propel himself five or so feet off the ground in a great leap. Every launch starts with a leap, after all. It is at the peak of that, however, that his ravaged and deteriorated wings start to flap wildly when his momentum unexpectedly gives out. No warning, no slow descent, just a sudden dead-in-the-air feeling that sends a jolt of panic arching through him. His wings twist, pounding at the air for half a second that feels like forever, until they eventually wither and Castiel starts to fall.

Sheer, unadulterated _terror_ lances through him. The act of falling from grace is one thing—an impression he's become all too familiar with—but actually _physically_ falling is a concept so foreign to angels that any number of them would easily claim to never having experienced the sensation before. The sudden inability to do something so familiar and so natural was like a human suddenly losing their ability to breathe. One of the most terrifying instances in the world grips at him, pulling him down down _down_.

The impact jars him, and Castiel feels his bones scream from the trauma. Mercifully, none of them break, but he ends up face down in the grass nonetheless, grimacing and trying to quash down the terror that had risen so quickly. Worse, and what was most humiliating, was his horrified embarrassment at having floundered so badly in front of Jody.

"Cas? Cas!"

"That was unpleasant," he mutters.

She's calling out to him, and he can hear her footsteps pounding over. Castiel tries to push himself up, but his arms give out and he goes back down. He shuts his eyes, a shuddering sigh jerking through him, and a moment later he feels Jody's hands on him.

"What happened? Cas, answer me! Are you all right?"

The angel groans—_is he really even an angel anymore?—_and feels his muscles coil painfully. "I think you should probably call Dean," he murmurs, voice barely audible to her. His head is spinning and throbbing, and his vision swims when he tries to open his eyes again.

Jody stares down at him, alarm, concern and dismay splayed across her features, because she understands now what's gone wrong. "Okay," she whispers, petting gently at his back in a soothing way. "Okay. Sit tight—let the bad landing wear off a bit before you try to move. We'll figure this out. Everything will be okay."

"You… need to call them. Tell them I can't reach them. Jody, please?"

"Alright. Alright, where's your phone, honey? Do you have it, still?"

Castiel rolls over slowly and with a groan, feeling his pockets with stilted movements. Jody finds it first, tugging it out of his jeans and dialing. It hadn't broken during the fall, a small miracle, and she waits for Dean to pick up. She sees the muscle clenching in Castiel's jaw, the rigidity of his posture. He closes his eyes miserably, avoiding eye contact. Jody takes his hand without asking and holds it while he catches his breath. He has trouble breathing as well now, and it's possible he's cracked a few ribs. So, he grips back, and waits for the inevitable—for his breath to come back, for the brothers to look on him like the useless entity he is, for his body to eventually give out when the cons of mortality outweigh its few advantages.

Castiel waits.

* * *

><p>The sky is black, littered with millions of glittering stars. There are so many of them, so many colors; reds, greens, blues, yellows, purples—all swirling together in faraway clusters, in breathtaking chaos. Twisting and turning patterns gravitate around each other with ethereal light, winking guilelessly at the earth below. The sky seems more beautiful than usual tonight; a final glimpse at what is now beyond his reach.<p>

Castiel looks up, ancient eyes watching the cosmos spin through space and time, rotating through galaxies bigger than even he could ever comprehend. With every hour that passes, they all seem dimmer. Like he's slowly going blind. A sad expression slips through the stoic exterior he's kept up and he sighs.

The Heavens stare back at the figure beneath the tree, in a way that the fallen angel thinks can only be regret. Beneath his skin, he can feel the weakness in his bones, the ache from his accident that morning… the jigsaw line between his human vessel and his true form is faded. It's been smudged out. Shame fills him. A poor shadow of an angel, he's become. A disappointment to humans and celestials alike.

Almost reverently, motivated by the desperate notion of nostalgia, he lifts his palm halfway to his eyes, studying his hand. A small ember of light wakens there, and it takes a good deal of concentration to keep the Grace alive. It flickers precariously now and then, but he can at least hold it steady for a little while before it winks out.

"You look like hell, Feathers," comes her soft voice from above him.

"Hell is dark and full of demons. I am neither of those things."

"He quips," Jody observes, quirking a smile.

His eyes, illuminated by the stars, regard her wearily. "It's cold, Jody," says Castiel quietly. "You should go inside."

Jody brushes off his selfless comment with her usual grace and huffs, settling down beside him. "You'll keep me warm."

Any protest dies on his lips when she invites herself into his arms. Castiel sighs, holding her tight and resting his chin on the top of her head. The moon reflects off the pond ahead of them, mirroring the milky glow of twilight. A breeze plays with the reeds as crickets call out in symphony; Castiel closes his eyes.

_"I think I've Fallen," he tells her one day. _

_"What do you mean?" she asks. Jody knows he rebelled. She knows the whole story by now. _

_Castiel shakes his head, mournful. He's been slowly losing even the powers he retained after the river. "I can't feel my Grace anymore. Not really. It's…" he hesitates. Discouraging? Demoralizing? Foreign, frightening? "Confusing." _

_Jody's brow knits, and there's compassion in her eyes when she looks at him. "You think you're human now?" _

_"I don't know," he answers honestly, hating how utterly helpless he sounds. How uncertain. He hates not knowing, because he_ should _know. How could he not_ know_?_

_Her thumb drags gently across his cheek. "Would it be so bad?" _

_It's an honest question. They're always honest. Never hold back, was Jody Mills. But her honesty is never brutal; it's always been one of the many things he admires about her. She's almost like him, in that way. And so he thinks, really_ thinks_. And, as he does, he counts the shades of brown that make up her eyes._

_"Perhaps not," he replies, lips tipping in a small smile._

"It'll be okay," Jody tells him now. She sounds so tired and he regrets that he's kept her up worrying because of him. "I promise, Cas. You're not broken. You're not less than what you were. And you still have me, what little that'll do. But you've got me."

Castiel presses a little closer to her. With his power drained, he's more subject to temperatures, and this night is cooler than most. It's more than just _him_ keeping _her_ warm. This is comfortable, even with the chill. Because, despite that it isn't always convenient, even though he wishes she'd refrain at times, Castiel knows how fortunate he is to have the woman he holds—a friend that cares enough for him that she'll push and push and push to find out what's wrong, beg and demand her way into helping him, and try her mightiest to lighten his load when it's too much. Castiel wonders how long they've been sitting here, beneath this tree. Sometimes it feels like they've always been here. Unlike humans, who eventually were required to get up and move, angels had always been capable of staying still for extended stints of time. Jody, through no surprise, gives no indication she has any desire to move.

He remembers thinking her an angel when they first met.

"It's everything, Jody. Having you is… everything."

Castiel knows he will be okay because of her. As long as she's beside him, he'll be okay.

Yes, Castiel knew of love—had seen it and heard of it, knew what it looked like. But never in all the millennia he'd been alive had he ever experienced it. Never in all his thousands of years of servitude had he ever loved anything or anyone more than Heaven, more than his Father. But then, he met the Winchesters. He met Bobby.

But even that could never compare to the day he met Jody Mills.

Like a hurricane, she swept him from any sure-footing—leaving him lost and simultaneously found in such an absurdly contrary way that, half the time, the angel wasn't certain he hadn't gone crazy.

"I was never meant to feel," Castiel whispers, so quiet it's mostly to himself.

Jody smiles nonetheless, just a tiny quirk of her mouth, but it's enough to let him know. Powers or not, Castiel always knows when Jody smiles. Huddling closer into his chest, fingers slotting through his, she asks him, "And do you?"

Does he?

_"You're safe."_

_"That book in your hands offers up a lot of faith, something you believe in already. Maybe it's time to turn that belief around."_

_"The memories will come exactly when they need to."_

_"Because. You're family."_

_"She's kind to me. She makes me feel... better."_

_"I'll always forgive you."_

_"I have something for you. Let's see if you're any good at Angry Birds."_

_"You scared the hell out of me, angelface."_

_"Paradise Falls reminds me of the Grand Canyon. I'd love to go there. It's on my list, if life ever gets back to normal."_

_"The world isn't going to end just because something nice happens to you, sourpuss."_

_"I'd like to kiss you again."_

_If he has to kill every last angel so that she can live, he will._

_"You saved me."_

_"You're so much more precious than you realize, Cas."_

_Something stirring in his chest, something far more reckless than the baser desires of his human vessel._

_Falling is not so scary when she is the one he's falling with._

_When she looks at him, it is without judgment or derision. Before she'd known who he was, after she knew what he'd done. This is the night Castiel starts to forgive himself. In these moments, where happy sighs become breathless gasps and broken moans. When, for the first time, the angel wears every emotion on his sleeve; awe, astonishment, and desire flittering across his face in a cacophony of sensations. As Jody whispers every sweet thing against his cheek. It's the first time Castiel has ever felt loved. The buildup of emotional trauma and this slowly burning ember between them compels the seeking of a far more intimate union. Because maybe they've both been lonely. Her back arcs beneath him and their fingers entwine. Pulses pound within their coupled hands, creating one fervent heartbeat. Their lips seal, not an inch of space between them, and Castiel has no idea where she ends and he begins._

_Maybe it's the whisper of her hair like silk against his skin, the endless relief and serenity at finally being able to hold her like this, but he never wants it to end. Castiel could stay like this forever, trapped in the spell she's cast over him. Without thinking, without doubting the reason, he bends his head, pressing his lips against the hidden place just below her ear, before whispering every thought there, wanting her to know that because of her, he can forget the damaged world, the creatures of his own making out there doing sick and twisted things. He's at peace. Because here, in the arms of this human woman, he knows he's home. How odd it is, this sense of all-encompassing relief. Like he can finally breathe again. He wants to protect her, he wants everything for her. It feels sudden and very alien, this desire, but Castiel reflects that the first stirrings of this feeling had bloomed the moment he'd laid eyes on her. _

_Castiel understands now what it means to belong to someone._

_To the universe, she is an insignificant and ephemeral wavelength of humanity; here and gone too soon to really be labeled a remarkable existence. But she is important to him._

_Before she can step away, his hand is clasped around hers, holding her in place. He's staring at their joined fingers through half-lidded eyes, somehow utterly fascinated even while in suffering. "It's strange," he says, quiet. "In my true form, I would never be able to do this." His fingers squeeze hers just a little tighter, and Jody feels a delicious ache in her middle. _

_"Hey. I love you, you big dumb lug." She stresses it, like she needs to say it, like it's important. His eyes fly to hers and he's startled by what he finds there. The sheer level of conviction. "With all I've got in me." It isn't so new. Love, that is. He'd always gathered he was, in a way. But to hear the words spoken aloud, to him, is… exhilarating. He knows though that he's never been loved like this. This is not the giving of a life for a mutual cause or the laying of it down for a friend or brother. This is the giving of one's heart, and therefore so much more terrifying. Castiel shrinks a little inwardly, startled anew, "No one's ever said that to me before." Jody looks into his sincere, desperately scared eyes and feels her heart tug painfully. "Well, that's a damn shame, Castiel. Because you are the single most lovable guy I've ever met." _

_"I know I want to spend whatever time I have here with you."_

_"I'm so sorry." Her lips are at his temple, his forehead, "I know. I know." It takes him a long time to pull himself back together, but he does. He gets up, squares his shoulders, and follows the boys onto the next case. After all, disgraced humans made natural hunters. "I'll be here when you get back," Jody promises him. Castiel stares at her like it's exactly what he needs to hear. He pulls her close and holds her tight, unwilling to let her go for a moment. "I don't think I could do this without you," he whispers into her hair, closing his eyes. Jody feels her heart swell up painfully, and she's suddenly blinking back tears of her own. So often after the death of her family, before the angel came into her life, the world just didn't seem worth being a part of. "Me either," she whispers back. They both have so far to go, but together, the road seems shorter and not so dark._

_"I was never meant to feel," Castiel whispers, so quiet it's mostly to himself. Jody smiles nonetheless, just a tiny quirk of her mouth, but it's enough to let him know. Powers or not, Castiel always knows when Jody smiles. Huddling closer into his chest, fingers slotting through his, she asks him, "And do you?"_

"Yes," he replies, like every single emotion he's experiencing is packed into that single word. He reaches up, smoothing a hand down her hair. His thumb caresses over hers, a tingle of sensation fluttering in his belly. "I feel a great deal."

As an angel, he'd never experienced _vertigo_. Oh, but even with every power at his disposal, even with Grace shining bright as Heaven's beacon, he did with her.

He did with her.

Being with Jody is flying and falling all at once. It's pain and it's pleasure, it's love and it's belonging.

It's home.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Once again, sorry for the lateness!


End file.
